“I remember how I cried when the thunder ceased and the rain stopped falling.”
—from the journals of Amarys Dejai
Today is the first day of October, and I feel less afraid than I have been.
—journal entry, amarys dejai
After a while of not dreaming about you, you visited me in my dreams once more a few nights ago. How strange is it that I could hear you say “I love you” even in my sleep. That was the first and only time you ever told me that. This was also the first and only time you touched me, kissed me. I felt as though I were melting. Such beautiful confessions they were. I didn’t realize how badly I had been longing for you until I woke up alone and in tears. I ached for you, I still do, and I fear that I always will. I wonder if you have ever dreamt of me...
“I want to be missed. I want to make someone ache.”
—from a journal entry, AMARYS DEJAI
3/1/19
On that day, without knowing it, I sang with you in the car for the last time. I held your hand for the last time. I told you that I loved you for the last time. I heard you speak my name for the last time. I saw you standing in front of me for the last time.
I have thought about you every day since that cold, winter night. I thought about you again today, but it will not be the last time that I do.
7/5/18 - 2:20am
I often find myself wondering what brings others peace, or even more frequently, when was the last time that they truly felt at peace.
When I ask myself this question, my mind always travels back to last November. It’s a moment that I can still see as clearly as if it were a film being projected onto a screen. After a long day of walking around, attending a variety of workshops, and competing at a state theatre convention, three of my friends and troupe members retired to our hotel room. I remember rushing to the bathroom to take the first shower of the evening so that I could get to bed as early as possible. When I collapsed onto the bed, I felt my body slowly sink into the mattress as if someone had placed weights inside the marrow of my bones.
Whenever I sleep, the room has to be at a cold temperature. But, for some reason, my friends insisted on keeping the room hot and humid for the time being. So what did I do? I took my shirt off, slid under the cool sheets, leaving one of my legs and the top of my breasts and upwards exposed, hoping that I could somehow absorb the coolness from the fabric of the covers. Once I got situated, I turned on my playlist titled ‘Jazz for Lovers’. Have I ever had a lover? No, never. But I am a hopeless romantic, and jazz is my ideal lover. I turned on Louis Armstrong’s ‘Let’s Fall in Love’. While my friends were finishing up their showers and their nightly routines, I laid in bed with my eyes closed, my breathing soft, enjoying the feeling of the cool sheets against my bare skin. I found contentment in that moment, and it felt as though the earth had stopped spinning.
I’m sure you reading this may wonder why I was laying in a hotel bed practically naked with three other girls in the room, and I’ll tell you.
I have known every girl in that room for a minimum of 3 years, and our friendships are strong. We know that each of us can be vulnerable with each other, which we have, in ways that include, but are not limited to: sharing our fears, crying into my friend’s lap, one of my friends asking me if her butt looks good in the nudes she took, amongst many other things. It is such a liberating feeling to be able to be so vulnerable with someone and know that no judgement will exist.
In that moment, we were all doing our own frivolous tasks: one still showering, one half naked and brushing her wet hair, and one reading silently beside me, the both of us enjoying the sounds of jazz that echoed through the room. All of us found comfort in the presence of each other, and I found my peace within their’s.
Eventually, the rest of them decided that they couldn’t bear the heat any longer, and we all fell asleep to the sounds of soft breathing and the caress of the cold winter air.
#my journal#journal enteries#journal entry#journaling#journal#mine#my writing#my words#my work#spilled poem#spilled emotions#spilled feelings#spilled writing#spilled prose#spilled words#spilled thoughts#spilled ink#writers of instagram#writers on tumblr#writers of tumblr#writers on instagram#female writers#female blogger#personal post#uepoetry
6/29/17
I have never been good with words, so let me trace the phrase “I love you” onto the skin of your back and down your spine as we lay in bed so that you fall never fall asleep feeling unwanted.
I can’t remember the color of your eyes; I can only remember that you are allergic to lavender. I don’t know what made you leave; I only know that I have not been the same ever since. I can’t remember the last time that I fell asleep with ease. Look, all I’m saying is that it’s 2 am, and here I am writing about you. I’m not saying you took my Sandman with you when you left, but I am saying that I can’t remember a time when I couldn’t fall asleep after you told me goodnight. Then again, maybe this whole thing is my fault. Maybe it’s my fault for not reaching for you when you left; You have never left without saying goodbye. So then, I guess it is your fault that I can’t remember the color of your eyes because you never looked back at me when you left. I only remember that you are allergic to lavender because I know that if I enveloped myself in the smell I could keep you close by keeping you away.
-journal entry, 2:18am
One of my long, older pieces.
#mine#uepoetry#my work#my writing#my words#my poetry#poet#poem#prose#prose poetry#journaling#journal entry#journal#writer#writing#writers on tumblr#poets on tumblr#new p.s.#spilled prose#spilled writing#spilled words#spilled thoughts#spilled ink#spilled poetry#excerpts from my writing#excerpts from a book i'll never write#writings#amarys dean#original work#amaryswrites
“It hurts. It always does. But I’m okay with that. If it hurts, that means that I cared. I loved. At least then I know that it wasn’t my fault, and I won’t have to stay up at night wondering what I did to make them leave. I gave them everything, and they didn’t reciprocate. Now, I know what I deserve, and it’s more than them.”
—1/8/18
“I’ve only read about a love like yours, and I think that’s what scares me. It is as if you have escaped straight from the pages of a novel that has made me jealous of a fictional love. That’s what I am afraid you are: fictional. All books have an ending. We don’t know what happens after the turn of the final page. Not every story has an epilogue. I’m am so afraid of uncertainty, but sometimes the reality is far much worse.”
—A Hypothetical, Perhaps a Dream by @unrepressedeleutheromania
“I spend too much time thinking about things that aren’t now, things that have not yet been. I have become a master in the art of cultivating false realities in my mind in an effort to distract me from the now. The problem is that my heart is ready to give all that it has in a single beat. I am human, and I so desire to be loved, and give love, with every fiber of my being. I romanticize about fictional occurrences so much that I am devastated when I am snapped back into reality. The reality here is that, as much as I wish I didn’t, I still feel lonely and unhappy. I am afraid of love, but yet, I desire it every day.”
— journal entry: december 22nd, 2017
Spent some time by myself this afternoon. It involved a lot of walking, people watching, writing, taking pictures of guitar players on the sidewalk, and finding these wonderful postcards at an antique shop. I hope the soldier of the bottom picture made it home to his love x