The Ghosts I Wish to Exorcise

The way I felt when I was talking with you, when your name lit up my phone screen. The thoughts I had of you at night as I fell asleep. The restlessness that crept in when I waited (for days) for you to respond. My desire for your body, your touch, your lips brushing against my ear as you whisper sweet nothings. The ache I wanted you to ease. The way I fell for your attention when we first started talking. The yearning for the short term satisfaction as we decided what we would want for the long term. The hope that you would want something as much as I did. The giddiness I had when you said I was yours. Any feelings I may still have for you, because it’s clearly not worth waiting for you to decide what you want. The way your sweetness melted the ice that built up the first time you disappeared, and how I hold it close, hoping that you’ll come back with it. The need I have to obsessively check my phone to see if you’ve actually read my messages yet. The temptation of texting you to see if it will finally make you respond. Every thought I have of you, and the way they make me yearn for you, even though we haven’t talked for days. The pain and sadness and anger I now carry because it’s over between us. Because your non-answer is all the answer I needed from you. 

Anti-Dating Profile

I’ll sit back and enjoy your struggle. Laugh when you ask for help. I listen to too many true crime podcasts - my pod library is full of it. I am so broken that I don’t know what it’s like to be whole anymore. I’d listen to you, but honestly, I don’t care. I can read you like an open book, but there are a lot of aspects which I am closed off. I’ll get bored of you, and eventually, it’ll fizzle out. And I’ll probably ghost. I’m good at forgetting you exist, honestly. I don’t go out or socialize. Hell, you have to bribe me to come see you. Open a door to your soul, and I’ll tear it out of you. I’ll rip your heart out and eat it with a smile on my face. I’m cool and aloof, but also needy at the same time. I fall asleep to the stolen dreams of exes. Share with me your secrets, and I’ll show you every broken heart I’ve left behind. My trail of hearts. I write spells and poetry in pen; I write in the margins of books, but in pencil. But I’ll write on your skin with fiery hands and burning fingers, trace constellations on your skin that won’t go away, so others after me will see you were mine at one point. I’ll crawl into your skin and make my home within the cage of your ribs before randomly leaving, and leaving you empty. I’ll kiss you with my eyes open. I’ll spend time with you while planning all the ways I would leave you within the next few weeks. I’ll have you thinking about me all the time, can’t get me out of your head, my scent lingering on your skin for days, the smell of my shampoo on your pillows for weeks before fading away, lasting longer than you and I did. You’ll want me back, but I’ll be long gone, moved on by two people, before you realize I’m never coming back. Plus, I’m a strong, independent person. I don’t need people. I survive, live better on my own. I sneer at anyone who says they want to “get serious” with me. I’m not the serious type. Don’t try to change my mind. I’ll break your heart until there is nothing left to break.