Notes

The first time I saw him...
Everything in my head went quiet.
All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
But when I saw him, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of his lips..
Or the eyelash on his cheek—
the eyelash on his cheek—
the eyelash on his cheek.
I knew I had to talk to him.
I asked him out six times in thirty seconds.
He said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to him...
But he loved it.
He loved that I had to kiss him goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday.
He loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
When we moved in together, he said he felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch his mouth when he talked—
when he talked—
when he talked—
when he talked
when he talked;
when he said he loved me, his mouth would curl up at the edges.
At night, he’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.
He’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of him.
Some mornings I’d start kissing him goodbye but he’d just leave cause I was
just making him late for work...
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, he just kept walking...
When he said he loved me his mouth was a straight line.
He told me that I was taking up too much of his time.
Last week he started sleeping at his mother’s place.
He told me that he shouldn’t have let me get so attached to him; that this whole thing was a mistake, but...
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched him?
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that he can run away from this and I just can’t.
I can’t – I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of him.
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars...
And he was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way he holds his steering wheel..
How he turns shower knobs like he's opening a safe.
How he blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out…
Now, I just think about who else is kissing him.
I can’t breathe because she only kisses him once — she doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
I want him back so bad...
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on.