The chronicling.

The one who wouldn't hold my hand.
You memorize my every inch. You fear none of it.
You are selfish, and you have a time limit.
You taught me that there is a part of myself I can't decline.
The part that loves calloused hands, the smell of leather, and pieces of my father.

The one I left for no good reason, but should have left long before that.
You should me how strong men can be sensitive.
You made me feel valuable.
I miss you, still.

The one I planned for.
Shamelessly.

The one who pressured me.

The one who made no sense at all.
You taught me not to deny myself.

The one I can't possibly be more than friends with.
You continue to teach me every day how to be a friend, how to be a human, how to be me.

The one who didn't speak english.
You taught me that sometimes I'm not the player, I am the pawn.
You taught me I'm not meant for a fairytale.

The loud one, with the big heart, and the big head.
You told me that I was every kind of gorgeous.
And then you taught me how to believe it.

The one I wish I was right for.
You spoke to me, and I would listen differently.
You offered me a life most departed, most dreamed.
You taught me that leaving is not for everyone.

The one who made my spotlight brighter.
You lit candles and lilted words coated with lust out of your thick lips.
You told me I was exactly what you always pictured yourself waking up to.
You taught me that elusive art needs good measure, and that I am messy enough on my own.
You taught me that there are two sides to a friendship, and that you can still love someone who doesn't always remember to text you back.
I hope I helped you realize who you need.

The one who's blood is made of stuff I wish mine was.
You taught me that I require solidarity.
You taught me how to clearly say "no".

The one I said "yes" to. 
You always had time, and chased away my fears of never being more valuable than that.
You took me for a ride on a big jet plane.
You taught me that spontaneity does not equal madness, and that I am in control of who is in my life, and who is not.
I hope I made you think in ways you'd never thought, about topics you dared not dwell.

The one who made me fear road rage. 
You taught me to wear the damn heels.

The one who yelled.
You taught me that surface dwellers are a thing.
You taught me not to get in the car.

The one I can't talk about yet.
Can we talk?

The one with the piercing, beautiful, sad eyes.
You are good enough for your father.

The one with whom I underdressed.
I built you in my head as a sloppy college student type with vans sneakers and a hoodie.
Not that the aesthetic kept me from being more myself, more quickly than normal.
I'm pretty sure you thought I was too good for you.
I hope I taught you that stereotypes are stereotypes.

I can't decide whether I should be sad, or mad.

Or if I have a right to be either. 

alskdfj

“Never apologize for burning too brightly or collapsing into yourself every night. That is how galaxies are made.”

—	Tyler Kent White

You lay out all your cards and look up at me.
I'll select those to complete my hand, and mercilessly toss those that don't.
With a face of stone, my stare is strong.