just alyssa

Sitting in a dimly lit theater, his hand wanders over to my thigh. Suddenly he’s scooting closer and closer and I am quietly wondering if maybe it would be easier if we just shared a seat. Like perhaps he is a toddler and needs my lap. Though I don’t think his 6’2’’ stature is going to fit well. I contemplate this as my eyes bore holes into the hand he ISN’T moving. I should like this gesture right? I should appreciate the kiss he just gave me on my cheek instead of wondering when I am going to be able to wipe off the saliva he left behind, without him noticing.  Leaving the theater, instead of appreciating the territorial arm that quickly jumps to my waist as another man gives me a friendly hello, I am creating my escape plan; the text I will send him after I get home, the karate arms I will use in the car when he tries to stick his tongue down my throat, and the way I will express to him that while I DO like him, I don't want him to be my boyfriend. It always goe...

Sitting in my City apartment, cars buzzing by, the girl downstairs kissing her boyfriend goodbye as he leaves, a man walking his dog is quickly passed by a jogger. Everything is moving. And I sit here, taking in each movement as I am perfectly still. I absorb my surroundings, hearing the soft hum of the air conditioner, staring at the candle burning away the last of the wax, and I feel a stillness. Tranquil serenity. When I decided to move to the City my mind was racing, trying to figure out what I was doing and why. I spent 90% of my time convincing myself it had nothing to do with my ex-boyfriend who lived there and the other 10% of the time was spent being terrified of leaving my comfort zone. Small towns are easy. They’re safe. You know people; you get your morning coffee with questions about work or your home life. You spend Sunday afternoons with family and friends and you always know who to call when your car breaks down. But there’s something those small towns never gi...

Sorry I’m not sorry…anymore. I don’t know when it happened. When exactly I realized how weak and dependent on others I can be. Perhaps when it was 3 am and I was filtering through my contacts, or maybe it was when I emailed you for the 5 th time, hoping we could talk. I don’t know when I finally picked up on my insecurity or my incessant need to be liked and completely understood, but it’s something that I can no longer apologize for. I have spent my entire life apologizing for everything. I’m sorry I bumped into you. I’m sorry I needed to ask a question. I’m sorry I’m on my period. I’m sorry I cried when I was upset. I’m sorry my house is messy. I’m sorry I’m not wearing makeup. I’m sorry my appearance is disheveled. I’m sorry I sweat when I run. I’m sorry I don’t smell fresh after the gym. I’m sorry I have morning breath.  I’m sorry I needed you to repeat yourself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorryyyy…. I’m so tired of being...