the first time i saw her…
everything in my head went quiet.
all the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just
disappeared.
when you have obsessive-compulsive disorder, you don’t
really get quiet moments. even in bed, i’m
thinking:
did i lock the doors? yes.
did i wash my hands? yes.
did i lock the doors? yes.
did i wash my hands? yes.
but when i saw her, the only thing i could think
about was the hairpin curve of her lips..
or the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek.
i knew i had to talk to her.
i asked her out six times in thirty seconds.
she said yes after the third one, but none of them felt
right, so i had to keep going.
on our first date, i spent more time organizing my meal
by color than i did eating it, or fxcking talking to
her…
but she loved it.
she loved that i had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times
or twenty-four times if it was wednesday.
she loved that it took me forever to walk home because there
are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
when we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no
one would ever rob us because i definitely locked the
door eighteen times.
i’d always watch her mouth when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked
when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the
edges.
at night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the
lights off..
and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on,
and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off,
and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on,
and off.
she’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and
nights were passing in front of her.
some mornings i’d start kissing her goodbye but
she’d just leave cause i was just making her late
for work…
when i stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she
just kept walking…
when she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line.
she told me that i was taking up too much of her
time.
last week she started sleeping at her mother’s
place.
she told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so
attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake,
but…
how can it be a mistake that i don’t have to wash my
hands after i touched her?
love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can
run away from this and i just can’t.
i can’t – i can’t go out and find
someone new because i always think of her.
usually, when i obsess over things, i see germs
sneaking into my skin. i see myself crushed by an
endless succession of cars…
and she was the first beautiful thing i ever got stuck
on.
i want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she
holds her steering wheel..
how she turns shower knobs like she’s opening a
safe.
how she blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out…
now, i just think about who else is kissing her.
i can’t breathe because he only kisses her once
—
he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
i want her back so bad…
i leave the door unlocked.
i leave the lights on.