I find myself regressing.

Repeating behaviors I exhibited back when I was in college.

I cut all my hair off and am letting it grow out again only this time the cutting was from losing the battle to save my ends from a bad dye job, not a surrender to early 2000s punk rock.

I return to my mother’s house where I live in the old room I had in elementary school. We played musical rooms a lot, my family and I.

I wear the clothes I wore as a child: jeans and oversized t-shirts only this time because they’re comfortable and not because we were flat broke and the authorities felt the need to hide my rapidly developing curves (I had the second biggest breasts in middle school).

I used to smoke cigarettes and I miss them with all of my heart.

I would tape magazine pictures into my notebooks for collages instead of gluing them, the glossy strips formed a layer of protection, preservation, I felt I could never attain.

I wanted to be a vampire. I wanted to stay the same, never age, never gain weight, never feel anything but cold.

Now I hate the cold and I weigh 50 lbs more than that girl I want to go back to.

She made a lot of mistakes.

I want to give her a hug and tell her to stop hating herself.

I want to tell her everything’s going to be alright AND she will find the PERFECT PURSE even though she’s also going to fuck up many, many times.

Fucking up is okay.

Do you guys out there feel that way too? Do you notice little things that you thought you outgrew? Or things you haven’t done in a very long time like make a collage or cut your hair?

Do you replay all your fuckups and cringe?

It’s okay.

She always laughed when we caught fire.

She killed a baby bird with a sprig of holly and a cement block.

She was my best friend.

He was my first love.

He was afraid of the things I wasn’t.

He threatened to kill my rat.

She hated me but forgot who I was.

She asked me where I’d been in that way that wasn’t asking.

No one wanted me to be friends with her.

He also forgot about me.

He had nice socks.

She came and went and came and went.

She was the only person who always listened.

He wanted to die before making life better.

He died before I could ask him out.

He was the only person who asked me if I was okay.

She didn’t like the way I did things.

He always scared me.

She was the only one who read my poetry.

He didn’t make fun of my favorite movie.

He thought I would like something that I didn’t but at least he thought of me.

He learned how to hate me.

She made fun of my hair.

He played the cello and wanted her to buy him cigarettes. (I wanted to give him mine but he never asked me.)

He survived cancer.

I don’t know if he’s still alive.

She was jealous of everyone.

He went away.

He didn’t know I could speak.

He kept poking me but couldn’t make me cry.

She could spike a mean volleyball.

She lied to me.

She said I was a liar.

She believed I was going to kill someone.

He took “no” way too personally.

He led her on. She never suspected.

She let her parents push her around.

She didn’t escape.

She didn’t get Dylan Thomas.

She said poetry was way over her head.

She ate a flower.

He made me cry.

She could never quit smoking.

He slammed my hand in a steel door.

His best friend could do no wrong.

He let me play with spray paint. After he grew up he was embarrassed.

He waited for me.

She hated her body.

She didn’t look like her mother.

She didn’t know how beautiful she was.

He wanted to go home.

She cried all night, every night.

She hated herself more than the people who hated her.

He hated the cold.

She was born on the same day as the city.

She had bad luck.

She thought all rooftops should have swimming pools.

She had a voice like coffee and cigarettes.

He had a voice like broken windows.

She said she liked the look the sharks gave her when they cut through uncharted waters.

He was an officer who knew how to bleed alongside everyone.

He looked for things he could never find.

She looked at me and smiled.

She made hunting noises.

He slept loudly.

She felt alone all the time.