Dear [Redacted],  

Whatever you do, don’t imagine todd the night after neil had passed, after the ceremony and all the days events, sitting alone in his room staring straight at neil’s bed.

the messy bed with the blankets thrown back and the pillow still creased after neil had woken up and left for the play. and how none of the poets had dared to touch it.

how todd became so distraught while staring at it he climbed into it and curled up under the covers and started to cry as the blankets still smelled like neil.

how todd spent all night in the bed sobbing his eyes out and holding onto the blankets for dear life, until the morning came and mr nolan came to collect all of neil’s stuff.

don’t imagine how todd fought to stay in the bed and keep neil’s stuff; sobbing and reaching for neil’s belongings as they were carted away like they were nothing but a collection of disappointments.

don’t imagine how todd stole one of neils sweaters without mr. nolan looking, along with one of neils books and kept them for himself.

don’t imagine how when mr nolan had left, and todd was left with nothing but the sweater and book, he curled up on the empty bed, devoid of all blankets, and read.

and how todd had found a poem neil had written, jotted down in messy scrawl on a piece of ripped paper, shoved in between two chapters. and how multiple lines were crossed out and rewritten with the intention of getting it perfect.

And how the poem was addressed to todd,

and how it was a love poem.

don’t imagine it.

The way our souls lingered for each other – as if they had been separated and sent through the universe in eternal search for their lost part, in constant connection with each other, so that they can find each other again and again. They met under the covers of countless masks, unmasked each other with such intimacy that the pure act of unveiling was a revelation itself. With each collision fragments of long-buried memories became visible, everything that was hidden came to the surface and became decipherable and finally, our two souls merged into one.

We have always loved and we will continue to love. Oh, the beauty of human connection!

I think of her alot,my younger self,what if she meets me someday or i meet her someday or someone like her or someone like me,

I barely have cool things to tell her about how I've been,

Maybe she'd know how to be me,

Maybe she'll sit quiet and listen to me,

Or maybe she'll crack a joke here and there and laugh with me,

She'd be so small,

I could pick her up,

She'll probably ask me alot of questions,

All the things that she couldn't but i can do now,

She'll be content to hear me out

Maybe I'll meet my older self someday,

Maybe she won't say much,

But she'll tell me things that are going on in her life,

Maybe I'll sit quiet and listen to her,

Maybe I'll crack a joke here and there to comfort her,

Maybe she'd be the same as me ,

I'll ask her alot of questions,

All the things i can't do but she can,

I'll be content and hear her out.

-tamanna

I run after him in the cold winter, my laboured breaths creating clouds of steam in the air. A smoke threatening to choke me and blind me and eat me alive. “Don’t walk away from me!” I shout at his back, my voice cracking at the end. He freezes. His fists clench and he stands there, turned away from me. “Don’t walk away from me. Please” I whimper again. He suddenly spins around, eyes red and tears streaming down his cheeks. My heart cracks. “you don’t get to ask that of me” he finally mutters brokenly “you. Do not. Get to ask anything of me!” he repeats louder now, getting in my face. I stand there, sinking and sinking until I wonder if the concrete below me is sucking me in or if his presence is a tornado itself. “You are breaking me. No, you are absolutely annihilating my heart” he whispers with so much emotion that I can see the cracks in his eyes. His hands hold my shoulders desperately and all I want to do is sink in them but all I can do is frantically shake my head while sobbing.  “You crashed into my life,” he goes on “you flipped my world upside down. I gave you my heart. I GAVE YOU MY HEART” he laughs, sounding nothing lie the boy I used to know. “the best part is, I never knew I could have something like what we had. I never knew it existed.” A scoff, he suddenly sneers. “you should have never come into my life. You can’t miss what you never had. But now. Now you have destroyed me. And I will never be the same again” still shaking my head I beg, “please. I-I can’t tell you,” I stop to stifle a sob. “I can’t tell you why I shut you out but you have to trust me. You mean everything to me. You mean the world to me and I can’t I can’t I can’t see you like this. It is killing me please stop please stop feeling like this I can’t breathe and you’re standing there and it hurts it hurts so god damn much because your pain is my pain so stop!” taking in a deep breath, I finally look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

The intimacy of answering the phone “Hey you.” The intimacy of stopping to wait when someone needs to tie their shoe. The intimacy of knowing when someone’s voice is thick with worry or sleep. The intimacy of singing (badly) with someone in the car. The intimacy of huddling together under a shelter/umbrella. The intimacy of instantly recognising someone’s handwriting. The intimacy of trying to make plans and, “Oh no we can’t, you’re working that day.” The intimacy of matching your pace to theirs as you walk. The intimacy of being there for someone as they cry. The intimacy of “How did you know that?” “Because I know you.” The intimacy of feeling someone’s warmth through their clothes when you hug. The intimacy of being given change that’s warm from the heat of someone else’s hand. The intimacy of shared, comfortable silence. The intimacy of knowing how someone would react. The intimacy of keeping the radio off when someone falls asleep on a long car journey. The intimacy of sharing one earbud each. The intimacy of noticing someone’s nervous habits. The intimacy of “I had a dream about you.” The intimacy of inside jokes. The intimacy of feeding someone food as they drive (or really any other time). The intimacy of knowing just how someone likes their tea/coffee. The intimacy of trying something new together and having no idea what you’re doing; the shared hesitancy. The intimacy of someone saying “Text me when you’re home safe.” The intimacy of someone falling asleep next to you. On your shoulder. In your company. The intimacy of sharing secrets in the nighttime, because 3am will never tell. The intimacy of someone’s pet recognising you and coming over to say hello. The intimacy of “This made me think of you.” The intimacy of borrowing a jacket still warm from their body heat.  The intimacy of seeing someone’s unfocused eyes when they first wake up. The intimacy of ordering food and “shall we share it?” The intimacy of someone sharing the meaning behind their tattoos. The intimacy of just looking at someone and dissolving into laughter together.

Relationships should be 50/50. I tell her that I think of her, often, it's disgusting and I can't stop, and she puts a knife to my throat

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