How do I tell someone, 

that when you text me,

my phone is on your own special setting,

where only your texts ring

warming my heart and turning my smile into a cheesy grin.

How do I tell my mom,

that I want you to come over,

be a part of my family gatherings,

our Thanksgiving feasts filled with random, hot dishes,

on sale paper plates from other holidays,

with the addition of the loud goats in my aunt's backyard whenever she hosts.

How do I shut my ring camera off,

so my mom doesn’t know about our long nights together,

where we threw sand at eachother irrationally like it couldn’t blind us.

Or when we would jump into the cold frigid lake,

Or the bruises on our elbows from the army crawling through the cold, thick grass of my front lawn.

For the thrill of it all,

for the burning love we had kept us warm.

How do I tell my family,

who has grown to embrace you,

as their own,

their own blood,

the thick, crimson blood that runs through my entire family tree,

the blood I shared with you, 

as it coursed through my veins,

embracing yours, with the palms of our hands entangling themselves together,

meeting eachother, as our fingers locked our emotions in that same moment,

that you stopped coming.

How do I tell my sister,

who you’ve taken to get exotic ice cream, 

for the past hundred weekends

that the seat reserved for her,

with her name scribbled on the cheap yellow scotch tape,

that was peeling from some girl taking her frail,

messed up acrylics to it,

as if she felt threatened,

and any sort of attachment she had to him

was snapped in half,

like the loose tree branch we became.

Rotting away until nothing could hold us together,

not even the hope I had buried inside my soul.

How do I explain to myself,

that all I sacrificed for you,

the time I gave up for you,

the emotions I solely dedicated to you,

my entire life is you,

including my heart and soul, 

that I spent hours perfecting just for you,

that I wasted

days, 

weeks,

and months,

on some wasteless love,

that apparently was worth less,

than the raging alcohol addiction,

of disgusting, room temperature twisted teas

or the other girls that you stored within you,

“ forgetting to tell me “ they existed all along.

How do I just

move on?

How do I even

breathe?

I don’t know how.

The thought of being so real with someone makes me feel like projectile vomiting, as I can even now feel the stomach acid churning and gurgling in my stomach, I’m scared of throwing up words that I can’t take back, which I deserve to spew and infect you with, but i’m still scared.

I’m scared of giving someone,

What I gave to you.