Echoes
our love is dead but without limit
You're made of trembling hands and mispronounced words.
He was pretty when you met him and he would say awful, awful things. 'You're fat.' he said, with a snarl, to a girl half your size. 'Your mum must regret you everyday.' he says to another, cheekbones cutting and eyes bright, sharp. Something about the way he broke everyone down made you think; wow.
Blue eyes was a breath of fresh air and you were sure he was everything you wanted to be. You said 'hi' and he looked at you with a gaze so cold it made your bones ache. He said 'hey' and you think the flower in his eyes withered away at the small kindness. He said 'I hate myself' and he said 'I love myself' and he's better than everyone, really.
Really.
He said, I got this thing with my head. He said there's this old me trapped inside. Trapped. It's trying to smother me, he said. It reminds me of her and she was oh-so pretty and skinny and he still defends her. You think he was a child, ignorant and lost, but you don't say that. You say; 'oh but she's so ugly' and 'She likes that band?"
You stare at pictures of her and don't look and her thigh gap or prominent collarbones. You look at her big nose and her stupid pink wall and her stupid t-shirt with some stupid, bad band on. She's ugly, you tell yourself. She's ugly and he could do so, so much better.
What you don't want to admit, is that better is you.
"I really kind of like you."
And it's two hours later and he says 'I don't know' and you think maybe you got it all wrong. You avoid him and his bright, sharp eyes and you hope it all blows over. You really do. You miss his typed words and his talk and the way it reminds you, inexorably, of tobacco.
He says "I really like you, too." and everything is okay for a while. It's you and him and he says 'you're beautiful' and you say 'not like you' because he's an angel. You see the waters of heaven rushing through his eyes, sustaining the flowers that grow there. You think he laughed but the tenses started to mix, around here.
And December melts away and so does he. He's oh so nice to you but that girl half your size is still fat and that's not okay in a way. You like being the exception to his hatred and you like the intensity of his rare affection. You don't like the way the fat hangs from your frame and the way foods start to make your eyes bleed brine.
You wake from a nightmare of eating a cake with two layers of jam and butter sprinkled with icing sugar and cry the early hours away.
"You're skinny." He says, but you've seen skinny in her and you are not. He see's the cuts and he sees the word 'FAT' crudely woven into your skin and the way he stares at you and how his calloused fingers feel against your flesh makes you want to cry again.
It still feels like a lie when he says you're beautiful and skinny and that he misses you. You want him to stop saying 'you're skinny' because your guts twist and you just need him to stop it all. You want him to leave your weight be so you can forget, a while, in his arms.
Then it all happens and you're so sick of him and his hatred and his cries for attention because you won't eat now and his barbed comments to others don't earn him any heed. It's everything around you and you fucking revel in it and despise it and you want to get through lunch without stares. You hadn't even lost any weight.
It's all about what people think.
When he talks you tell him to shut the fuck up and you haven't touched him for weeks. You can't deal with yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to stand him, and it's best friend number three all over again. It's the guilt because you want him so, so much but you can't stand him. You don't know why your brain does this once every six months, like clockwork, but it makes you want to punch someones ribs in.
You break it all up and he says 'we can try' and you say 'no we can't'.
There's months when you sometimes visit his blog, because you're interested. 'She's fat' he says, 'she's fat and pathetic' and you can't bring yourself to eat dinner. 'I ate at a friends' you tell mum, and dad wants to know why you got a B instead of an A. Your brother says 'I'm the thinnest in this family' and everyone laughs and you throw up the lunch you didn't eat.
You push bestfriend number four away.
There's another boy along the line but he's too busy destroying himself with protein and well placed cuts that his assurances of 'you're not fat' go unheard. He breaks up with you because you don't put out but that's okay because mirrors make you cry and you couldn't imagine having someone else see you while you're so ugly.
The girl with the dark hair and dealer called Freddie pass in less than a week.
It's October and it's been a year since him and you're a stone lighter and you feel tears on your tongue. You can't stop stupid stories about stupid boys who act a lot like a stupid girl trapped in your mind. They chain smoke until they can't breathe and he says 'sorry' and he says 'you're not fat' but you feel fatter than ever.
He says 'you're so skinny now' and it sounds a lot like 'you didn't used to be' which hollows out a hole in your throat. You tell him he's pretty and his voice seems so much deeper now. He says that he was an immature child and he didn't mean it and he's just bitter. You say that it's all okay and he asks how much you're eating and you ask how his mum is.
He says, 'you should really eat', and he says 'that girl is so fat' and you say 'yeah' and they said 2013 would be the year, but it feels a lot like the end.
He was pretty when you met him and he would say awful, awful things. 'You're fat.' he said, with a snarl, to a girl half your size. 'Your mum must regret you everyday.' he says to another, cheekbones cutting and eyes bright, sharp. Something about the way he broke everyone down made you think; wow.
Blue eyes was a breath of fresh air and you were sure he was everything you wanted to be. You said 'hi' and he looked at you with a gaze so cold it made your bones ache. He said 'hey' and you think the flower in his eyes withered away at the small kindness. He said 'I hate myself' and he said 'I love myself' and he's better than everyone, really.
Really.
He said, I got this thing with my head. He said there's this old me trapped inside. Trapped. It's trying to smother me, he said. It reminds me of her and she was oh-so pretty and skinny and he still defends her. You think he was a child, ignorant and lost, but you don't say that. You say; 'oh but she's so ugly' and 'She likes that band?"
You stare at pictures of her and don't look and her thigh gap or prominent collarbones. You look at her big nose and her stupid pink wall and her stupid t-shirt with some stupid, bad band on. She's ugly, you tell yourself. She's ugly and he could do so, so much better.
What you don't want to admit, is that better is you.
"I really kind of like you."
And it's two hours later and he says 'I don't know' and you think maybe you got it all wrong. You avoid him and his bright, sharp eyes and you hope it all blows over. You really do. You miss his typed words and his talk and the way it reminds you, inexorably, of tobacco.
He says "I really like you, too." and everything is okay for a while. It's you and him and he says 'you're beautiful' and you say 'not like you' because he's an angel. You see the waters of heaven rushing through his eyes, sustaining the flowers that grow there. You think he laughed but the tenses started to mix, around here.
And December melts away and so does he. He's oh so nice to you but that girl half your size is still fat and that's not okay in a way. You like being the exception to his hatred and you like the intensity of his rare affection. You don't like the way the fat hangs from your frame and the way foods start to make your eyes bleed brine.
You wake from a nightmare of eating a cake with two layers of jam and butter sprinkled with icing sugar and cry the early hours away.
"You're skinny." He says, but you've seen skinny in her and you are not. He see's the cuts and he sees the word 'FAT' crudely woven into your skin and the way he stares at you and how his calloused fingers feel against your flesh makes you want to cry again.
It still feels like a lie when he says you're beautiful and skinny and that he misses you. You want him to stop saying 'you're skinny' because your guts twist and you just need him to stop it all. You want him to leave your weight be so you can forget, a while, in his arms.
Then it all happens and you're so sick of him and his hatred and his cries for attention because you won't eat now and his barbed comments to others don't earn him any heed. It's everything around you and you fucking revel in it and despise it and you want to get through lunch without stares. You hadn't even lost any weight.
It's all about what people think.
When he talks you tell him to shut the fuck up and you haven't touched him for weeks. You can't deal with yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to stand him, and it's best friend number three all over again. It's the guilt because you want him so, so much but you can't stand him. You don't know why your brain does this once every six months, like clockwork, but it makes you want to punch someones ribs in.
You break it all up and he says 'we can try' and you say 'no we can't'.
There's months when you sometimes visit his blog, because you're interested. 'She's fat' he says, 'she's fat and pathetic' and you can't bring yourself to eat dinner. 'I ate at a friends' you tell mum, and dad wants to know why you got a B instead of an A. Your brother says 'I'm the thinnest in this family' and everyone laughs and you throw up the lunch you didn't eat.
You push bestfriend number four away.
There's another boy along the line but he's too busy destroying himself with protein and well placed cuts that his assurances of 'you're not fat' go unheard. He breaks up with you because you don't put out but that's okay because mirrors make you cry and you couldn't imagine having someone else see you while you're so ugly.
The girl with the dark hair and dealer called Freddie pass in less than a week.
It's October and it's been a year since him and you're a stone lighter and you feel tears on your tongue. You can't stop stupid stories about stupid boys who act a lot like a stupid girl trapped in your mind. They chain smoke until they can't breathe and he says 'sorry' and he says 'you're not fat' but you feel fatter than ever.
He says 'you're so skinny now' and it sounds a lot like 'you didn't used to be' which hollows out a hole in your throat. You tell him he's pretty and his voice seems so much deeper now. He says that he was an immature child and he didn't mean it and he's just bitter. You say that it's all okay and he asks how much you're eating and you ask how his mum is.
He says, 'you should really eat', and he says 'that girl is so fat' and you say 'yeah' and they said 2013 would be the year, but it feels a lot like the end.