There is this boy that I want to love, if only I knew how to let myself love another person. He is wonderful in all of the ways you want a person to be wonderful. But I am me; jaded from the many boys who returned my heart to me, mistrusting from the endless beginnings of beautiful romances that faded into nothingness, pessimistic from the voice in my head that still tells me I'm not special enough to be loved. All of these feelings wrapped around me like a ribbon  decorating a maypole. I met him when I was visiting Portland last month and through a series of all too perfect events, we found ourselves in a long distance kind-of-but-not-really sort of relationship.

​​The air is heavy as if it contains the weight of sadness. I try to move, to take just one step forward, but the pavement has melted into an invisible tar and I am stuck. I get on my hands and knees desperately trying to go somewhere, collecting scrapes and bruises but remaining in the same place. I am panting hard, exhausted from trying to move forward. It doesn't matter much if I move anyways, this twisted path leads only to the beginning. Identical days follow identical days. The dark filter over my eyes morphs the  clarity of everything into shapes, it is hard to see what's there. ​