liz?

was it worth it? did the back and forth get strong enough that you couldn't help but let go? you are the one that always knew how to deal with this stuff; the grouping around in the dark. you didn't pretend to know the way, but you were warm and held tight and that's really all you need when facing the waves. liz? who did that for you? did everyone assume they were inadequate? did they accept their roles because you always seemed so confident? how big was your rock? your chance at survival? did you want to blow everyone away?

no.
you weren't thinking of them, were you? not in the selfish - ruthless kind of way, but the way that is simple and painful and pure. you couldn't, there wasn't room. liz? i'm sorry. i don't know if i could have taken any of it - the screams. but i could have been one voice, and sometimes that's makes all the difference? could i have made the war a little warmer? provided a hand to squeeze - even if you had to let go?

i don't know why. i don't know how. i know that you are not a selfish person. i know that that is rarely the reason. i think reasons don't exist there, just pressure and salt. salt in open wounds that pour out in tears. drowning in salt. drying up. thirsty. cracked. dissolving.

liz,
 
in a twisted way - you have cut me deep. but now i am wary of knives and afraid to die.

liz,
i thought you were untouchable. immortal. a god.
you went out with a bang - shrapnel in rasping lungs. i long for you.
in a way that is dirty and deformed. a parasitical relationship. i hate you, but you are the closest thing to touching gold across ponds.

what now, liz? how can we just -live?

Lemons

I don't want to understand. I don't want to 'hash it out'. I hate that I can't connect, and when I do, I hate that people need me. I can't feel the wind anymore, but i'm held tight in embraces. I want to be lonely again, but being the phoenix burns like hell. Tears act as fingers pointing inward, exposing everything i've tucked away and turned against. I've become so good at being a voice that I've lost my own and I don't know where I'm falling I just can't feel the road beneath my feet anymore. I need to sleep but don't want to close my eyes. The passive is overpowering. To let another day just roll in like everything will go on and be okay would be murder to this fire that I miss and despise so badly. To send a message and not get a response is better than not sending at all? Yes. But the world runs on murder and manipulation. The bumps are no longer friends, but strangers staking their ground in a body I no longer know. I need music, but have never heard the words. My teeth shut out the wind when I smile and smiles turn into hot breath. Hate breath. Retching up something just out of reach. Wanting to feel dry again. I can't. Breathe. out of my nose. So leave my mouth open. I'll take the pain, if it makes everything whiter. My thoughts are not my own anymore and my life is cinders, waiting on the breeze through the trees. Cause if I can't find my own voice, I just want to hear the mountains - talk


talk








talk.

Dear Liz

You hugged Sarah until she gave in and cried.
Gave Alicia glass mason jar mugs - with lids - so she could transport her wine.
Made all the youngsters drool with lust.

Liz...
I don't even fucking know anymore.
You are love. And all the shit and elation that comes along with it.

Debunkifying?

It's been 181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

I sat in that dark car, and laughed with delirious assumed understanding and bottled relief. 181 days before today.

 

So, 181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

Seems like enough time to let alcohol-soaked cotton swabs infiltrate the lungs of butterflies and wanderers and all manner of flying things. 181 days before today.

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

I think I understand. This day. Day 182. Month 6. Hour 4,345. Somewhere between the minutes of 260,652 and 260,689; second 15,638,472 or 15,638,463. 

181 days before today.

We left the acidic disease behind us, and thought we could move on. 

We cracked instead. And for

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

I've been trying to pretend it wasn't so. 

She talks about him as if they are what we were before

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

It hurts. The stories she tells, were mine before the needle started to jump wildly. Before the quake hit.

And today, I understand. 

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

ago, was the moment he realized that, try as he may to make it so, I could not fill the void those lovely eyes left.

 181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

ago was the moment he debunked the mystery of our failure. 

Day 182 was the moment for me.

Dear Liz

Hey.

It's been a while now. You could say I've finally come to accept. I think ignore is a better word.
But it feels like we've talked it out. A little. You speak to me in my art. Through our past letters. In the corners of my memory. You're here, but you're slowly leaving.

I mean, not entirely. You will forever be in the back of my heart and mind. Bananas will always flash by when I see an Italian Greyhound. Your whoops of joy will echo when I see a flippin fork lift. Canvas and buckles brush against my skin when I see a purple carabiner. Betas, bullets, iFly, Hawaiian snacks. Homemade wrapping paper and crystal necklaces. Shoplifting. Stargazing. Sex.
All of it is still here, with me, a part of me.

I'm losing the details. On which finger your tattoo lay. The sarcasm laced songs you showed me. Your phrases. Your clothing, and jewelry. I guess it's not the important stuff, but it's a part of you and I don't want to loose any crumb of the Liz I remember.

You're like the wind now. I think of you when I'm inspired to action. You are a silent force that remains with me. Adds strength when I can no longer muster it in myself. You are the kick in my step, the ring in my laughter, and most importantly, the mark by which I compare my life, in retrospect.

Miss you, girl.
Kenz

Dear Liz

I Facebook stalked you tonight. I couldn't find much, because of your charming disregard for social media. But what I found made me sad. Because there was so much I didn't know.

Your hair was long.
Your dog was defined.
You traveled.
You had an orange kitten.
Your porch was old and rickety.
You were besties with your sister-in-law.
You looked healthy.
You were married in a white dress... with a sword.
You looked absolutely stunning.
I never thought it was possible, but you had grown.

I would have had everyone of these details, and more, etched into my own memories had I given in to your pleas, taken one afternoon off, and paid you a visit. I always wanted to, but - as always - typical Kenzi, life got in the way. You would have never let something so fluid touch your relationships.

I opened your safe today. I didn't have time to think about it. I grabbed the key, shoved it into it's place, took what I needed (some old pictures, unrelated to you), and slammed the lid back down, locking it back up before I could let emotion touch me. It felt like it was pulsing. Jimangi style. Like your letters had a heartbeat, buried under the pile of forgotten memoirs.

They started a blog for you. It's called Live a Life Like Liz. It's dedicated to the "pay it forward" mentality and purpose. For strangers to share their experiences. Look what you did with what little time you had. The only problem was the intro, all angels and god and heaven and shit. Not at all what you believed. Come on, people... show a little respect. Anyway, I made my own version: Live Like Liz, L^3... or <3. I drew it on my hand. Next to the sharpie ring. I don't know why I think surrounding myself with bits of you will help, but it kinda feels like I still have you.

Liz, I miss you already. I wish I could've felt this when you were still here. Wish I could've taken advantage. See? You're still teaching me life lessons.

Kenz

Dear Liz

I'm so mad at you. You were the one person who always had everything under control. You loved the beauty of life and knew how to live it more than anyone. People and relationships meant the world to you. So how, Liz? How could you abandon them with such little regard as to the havoc you would be leaving behind?? Do you know how many hearts will never quite heal back the same way? Did you consider the hours your friends, sisters and closest companions would spend, dehydrating the system? And did you think of permanent salty stains down permanently swollen faces? What about permanent pain in exhausted souls? How could you purposely taint theaters, Wes Anderson films, homes that are much too small, maroon felt hats and carabiners? Did you knowingly accept the crushing, falling, no escape, just want to curl up and cry until every last bit of moisture leaves the body to shrivel and be free feeling that even the tiniest manifestation of distant shadows of you would surface? Did you go over all the words that were said to even the most insignificant of admirers? Did you realize those words would echo in their mind for the rest of their lives? Did you take into account the questions and scenarios that would eat at those you love each and every day, poisoning their dreams and replacing their high chins with doubt and uncertainty? Did you think of us?? Did you think of what a dark place the world would be without you? Did you pause for one second and consider suffering just a day more to spend the day with your sister? Your husband? Your long lost friend? To let them make it better?? Cause we would have done anything.

Not you Liz.
You were all that's good in the world. You were my hero.
It kills me that you were battling a much darker demon under all the reassuring words. That you were comforting me about religion, boys and school when


Not Liz.

Not Liz.



Please, God, let me wake up.