Tales I’ve never told
Tales I’ve Never Told is a new forum to share your untold thoughts, tales, woes, and so forth. Here, in this corner of the void, no one knows you. It is a safe space to ramble and weep at the feet of indecency. Pop a bottle of vino and pour your heart into your words. Live deep and suck the marrow out of life. We’re all human, there’s no one here to judge.
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Tales i’ve never told
To: the poet
You know its me now, and part of me knows you'll find this anyways so there's no point in writing like you won't see it, but I want so desperately to show you everything I've made in the hopes that you continue to like me that I won't be able to keep this from you for more than a day even if I try. You wanted something sweet, something sincere, but I'm struggling. The second I knew you would inevitably see it, all rational thought left my mind. I keep thinking about last night and yes I'm alarmingly aware of my body and yes I'm having the expected reaction but yes I will probably call you tonight and ask you to come over anyways, anxious to try again and try to be better. Have I told you my favorite part of you is your hands? I wasn't lying last time I wrote to you, I think about them constantly, they're inescapable and I'm at a loss for words each time you reached for me. Do I tell you here that I'm still shocked you're willing to be seen with me? That the idea of you telling your friends (well, boss? coworker? friends regardless) makes me giddy, even if part of it is because I'm bewildered they didn't tell you to stop, find someone more worthwhile that will actually keep you interested. I'm sure they thought of it. You're kind and handsome, even you're tirades in the middle of the night mean the world to me. And if I haven't implied it hard enough, if you need to read it for it to be true, I'm proud of you.
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To: Milena
You scare the hell out of me. I labor over every word I lay at your feet. I’m engaged in a perpetual balancing act between sincerity and strategy. I want to be honest, but my honesty might push you away. We’re down in the depths, darling. You think I want to pull you out of the depths, but I don’t. I just want to crawl down with you and turn the light on.
I don’t want to “fix” you or change you. You don’t believe that; why would you? But I’ll say it again. Look at me: You don’t need to be “fixed,” and you sure as hell don’t need to be changed. Anything I say or write is a permutation of the same theme. I’ll follow you down and I’ll hold you until it’s over and it comes back again. And it will come back. I’ll still be there. I want you just as much when you’re sad and lost as when you’re melting into my arms and the finite dissipates. Fine, I won’t say it like that. I want you as much when you’re hiding your face from me because you don’t want me to see you cry as when I’m kissing every part of you and forgetting that there is a future or a past.
I won’t ever understand your pain. There are forces working in you beyond your control. I love them too. All of it. I’ll squeeze you and compliment you (you make it so easy) until you believe me. I’d be trepidatious if I were in your shoes. So what? Let’s play it as it lays. What does a title mean anyway? Goethe said, “Feeling is everything, name is but sound and smoke.” The feeling isn’t leaving anytime soon.
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To: mom / From: your daughter, who loves you more than anything
you're lying right next to me as i type this. i love you so much. all you want is for me to be happy and all i want is to make you proud and those things contradict each other so much it hurts me, but know that i will always choose you in every lifetime. i am made in your image and i will do everything i can to make all the suffering i caused you worth it. i think i owe you that much.
i never hear anyone talk about their mothers with this much love but you (and our dog) come first before everything, even myself.
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To: My dad / From: your daughter that wishes she wasn't.
I hope one day you realise just how badly you fucked me up.
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To: my future self / From: my 18 year old self
Did we ever figure out the difference between basic kindness and actual love behind someone's actions? Did we finally start to like our reflection in the mirror? And lastly are we truly happy and content with where we are?
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To: Dita / From: someone who loves all your phases<3
Dearest Dita,
We've known each other for so long. So long that you've seen all my phases, all my crazy celebrity crushes (irl ones too lol), weird music choices and the era where we couldnt text without relevant gifs.
People talk about the red string of fate in romantic ways but your my platonic one, love. We existed right in front of each other, grew up in the same classroom, (you were the class clown, i was the proper silent girl), had lunch on the same table for years, yet it took us quite some time to finally realize we were the souls we were searching to confide into for so long. The comfort we searched for away from our homes. The love we never got.
Time works in mysterious ways but if there's one thing its done right it would would be bringing me and you together. Right when we needed it the most. My dearest dita, there's not a day im not grateful you exist. Every Dati needs her Dita and I'm quite lucky to have you in my life
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To: myself and to the women who feel like victims but who also feel profound shame
There is no right string of words to convey the emotional baggage that was placed into my hands after “dating” a man who closer in age to my parents than me. Many people use the term “grooming” and in many ways it was. But I still grapple with the complexities of the situation. Feeling like a victim, but also knowing that I had a role to play in it. The dichotomy between being wronged and knowing I was in the wrong by keeping myself in an unsafe situation by choice. I did things I shouldn’t have, things I feel ashamed of to this day. But many things were done to me that feel irreparable. These things can coexist, two can be true at once. But that doesn’t justify what was done to me, it doesn’t invalidate my experience. Holding profound shame and guilt won’t mend this wound.
As my therapist has recommended, I have had to look at it from an outsiders perspective, what my friends would say (or have said). As well as the overarching themes of the situation: I was manipulated and I was a young girl.
That isn’t me anymore, but I pity the girl that slipped into that trap out of loneliness and a desire to be desired.
This is for the women who feel this way or who have shared similar experiences. You aren’t alone, even if you haven’t spoken about it to another soul. Don’t pick apart the micro-details, you were vulnerable, struggling and maybe even young. It was a horrible thing and will remain a horrible thing, but you won’t make it any better by being hard on yourself.
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To: Dad
I've been wanting to get this off my chest for years, but I'm scared that getting this out will somehow taint my remembrance of you. All I have left are my memories. But I have to get it out. I feel so guilty.
When I was around seven, I would keep coming every night to sleep with Mum and you. And I loved it, just being with you both, feeling like I was in the centre of everything, like I was the only person who mattered at that moment. And then it happened. One night I came, and you sent me back to my room. You told me that I had to sleep in my own room, and my sister was there, and I couldn't just leave her all alone. And you turned me away.
I never came back. But years later, in the hospital, when you were in your coma, when I had to look at you, just asleep, so far away from me, knowing you could hear my tears, feel my hand on yours, I felt myself break. And all I could think was how inappropriate it was to think about how unprepared I was for my exam the next day. The doctors told me you were dying. And this was supposed to be my goodbye. And I tried saying, "It's okay if you want to go." But the words never came out. I just kept repeating "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay..." again and again while the tears dropped down. And then, I remembered my sister, and how she was waiting for me outside, and even though she wasn't alone, I couldn't leave her be, and so, I turned back and walked out, walked away without even looking back.
And I'm haunted. I'm haunted. Because then I didn't think it had anything to do with my memory. But now I do. And no one can convince me of anything different. I hate myself for not staying longer, for not refusing to leave, for not screaming out, "I want you back, please don't leave. Please don't want to leave." For everything I'm sorry Dad. I'm sorry, and I will always be sorry. I miss you so much, more than I'll ever possibly even realize, and I'm sorry. But I didn't turn back because I didn't want you anymore or I wanted to get back at you for turning away.
I wish you were still here. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never told you that you helped me grow up. That you helped me realize that I needed to be there for others as well. That I finally understand you meant well for me.
I miss you Daddy
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To: my other half
I'm not good at love. I see it in novels and movies and I hear it in my favorite music, but it's never like that in real life. I feel like an actor on stage with no script, and everyone knows their lines but me.
It was so easy with you. It's been a long, long time since I've had a best friend like you, and you fit with me like you were always there. I remember the day we met like it was yesterday, but it feels like we were already as close as we are now after the first conversation.
I want everything with you. The cute rental downtown with space for our friends to stay as long as they need; movie nights and dinners and concerts; matching tattoos; being your forever plus one, not just your plus one until you get a partner.
So we both know that I am not good at love, but I love you as much as I am able. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else. You are the ideal I judge every potential parter against, and they never quite measure up.
I hope someday I can find the courage to tell you. But even if I don't, I'm so thankful to have you in my life in any form. Becoming your friend is one of my greatest accomplishments, and I can't wait to be by your side for the rest of time.
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To: E / From: you know who it is
I'm tired. I'm sad. I feel like absolute fucking shit and there's quite literally nothing in the world I want more than to call you and tell you every little horrible thing that's happened to me in the past few days in excruciating detail. But that's also the last thing I'd ever do, because your mom told you that she was divorcing your dad and you've been so upset and your boyfriend came to visit you and you're so happy right now and wouldn't I be the worst person in the world if I shattered that?
I'm leaving to visit my dad later today. I don't want to go. Don't make me go. Don't let me go.
Sick and tired. Sick and fucking tired. Miss you. Want you here with me so I can cry into your chest. Want you happy for the first time in a few days. Mutually exclusive.
I don't feel real anymore.
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To: Everybody Relevant and No One At All
Dear Everybody Relevant and No One At All,
There’s this girl who used to go to my middle school. Let’s call her Cassie. If I'm being completely honest, I never even knew Cassie existed until the whole district got the news. Over some holiday from school—maybe it was spring break?—her family went on a road trip. Cassie, her older brother, her mom, and her dad. The four of them. But only one came back.
Cassie’s older brother was the only one who survived that car crash. Cassie’s older brother. Who was, and still is, in high school. He lost his mother. His father. His sister. Everything.
And for lack of a better word, it kills me. It rips every fiber of my soul out of my very being. It wrenches my heart and twists it, strains it into unimaginable shapes. Because of her brother who is living with god knows what family now. Because of her brother who still shows up to school, day after fucking day. Because of her, because she was thirteen. Thirteen. Cassie. Was. Thirteen. Years old. And her life got robbed in the dead of night on a highway or an interstate somewhere across the country. Because her brother doesn’t have parents anymore. Or a sibling. Her brother doesn’t have anything. Not anymore.
Because I didn’t even know Cassie’s name until I read her obituary.
Dear reader, how the hell is it supposed to be a happy birthday when Cassie is forever thirteen? Every year I grow older is another year she doesn’t. All her dreams died with her. Anything she wanted to do, be, accomplish. Gone. Just like that. Just like her. I wonder if she had any big aspirations that were left unfinished. Because thirteen-year-olds don’t typically start truly exploring their passions until at least high school or university. Maybe she wanted to be a singer or an astronaut. Maybe she wanted to start a literary magazine.
Dear reader, if you want to know why I am crumpled into a ball on the cold, hard tiles of my bathroom floor, it’s because I am crying over a dead girl who I never even knew - who I’ll never get to meet.
Did they even have a funeral?
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To: Hari
I'm so sorry for all the things I did. I wish I had the courage to tell you.
I've always dreamt a future with you, but I can't get myself to tell you what I feel. But I've gone beyond what I should do and hurt you in all possible ways. I'm so sorry. It's been months since I last talked with you and it's been more since I fell in love with you. If you ever read this, please know that I only wish the best for you. I hope you lead a life full of joy and cheer, because I love you. You don't have to be mine but no one else can fill the void in my heart that you have left.
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To: Joshua
Sometimes I dream of meeting you. Okay, many times. It might be in a shop, or a restaurant, or even in another part of the world, but I want to meet you again.
The last time we met, it's not that I didn't have anything to say to you. I had so much. All the words pouring out in a waterfall of emotions, just drowning out my voice in their roar. I didn't know what to say first, and so, I just dumbly smiled an awkward smile at you, and proceeded to talk to everyone but you, knowing you were watching me not talk to you. And, after that day, I never saw you again.
And I want to.
I want to be able to go back to that easy amicability we shared. I want to have you in my life because I want to have that one person who can just make me feel better with a smile, with a shake of your head, with a glint of madness in your eye. I search for you everyday in the broken corners of my heart, and I try to piece you together again. I try to put you back into that place I designated for you, but in breaking, in shattering, you've somehow managed to claim my whole heart.
And I want you to know that. I don't know how to tell you this, I don't know if you'll ever hear this. I don't think we'll ever meet again. And if we do, I just hope I have the courage to tell you this.
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To: JJ / From: Topi
so maybe he doesn't like sex . he doesnt like the way his partner makes him feel . how it feels different when he cums . like a burning , sizzling type of feeling in his gut . the feeling of your throat after puking . he doesn't like the fact that he feels like a babysitter . not really , but still . he is her only friend . her only footing in the whole city . the responsibility it gives him , at only 18 , is too unbearable .
then he thought that maybe once they have sex again , everything will be better . he'll feel lighter .
but now , now in his pyjamas at 2.50 am trying to make himself cum after not finishing with her , he comes to the conclusion that he just fucking hates it . he hates how it feels like a chore . he hates how she is disgusted of his taste and completely forgoes foreplay because of the fact . he hates how he bleeds when her fingers are scratching against his walls but all he needs is just rougher . hates how he keeps saying " please hit me " like a mantra in his head , the same way he does when he masturbates by himself . what's the difference between her pleasuring him versus him pleasuring himself ? both are uncomfortable and unsatisfactory as fuck . he hates how he gets clingy so fast and gets bored just the same way .
he hates how they have sex every time he invites her over and she gets nothing in return . he hates how she keeps insisting on sucking on his bottom lip , even when he says it hurts . even when he says he doesnt like it . he hates how she doesnt understand that he doesnt like kissing . he hates how she tries to " communicate " without talking everyday , but his actions are only being discarded as teasing . he hates being pushed into things . he hates trying to accomodate her . he hates feeling stuck . he hates feeling like he's the only one making an effort . he hates how she touches him . he hates not making a move back , but not wanting to do it . he hates it all .
what does it mean if he doesnt say no first , if he is indifferent , but he regrets the act later ? what does it mean if he feels unclean , dishonest , and impure ?
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To: Mom / From: Your child who wants to leave and wants to never stop holding you
I love you. I don’t like you. I’ve known you my whole life. We would’ve been friends. You’re the person I spend the most time with. I can’t wait to move out. I’m mad at you all the time. I want to scream at you. I want to hug you. You’re in therapy, but I don’t think you know what your problems are. You’re the only family member I talk to. I barely tell you things. You’re proud of me. I wish you hated me. I wish I hated you. You tell me I’m smart. Sometimes I think about you killing me. I look exactly like you. I know the most about your childhood. I know nothing about you. I think I got my mental illness from you. You don’t think we have one. You’re happy I’m in therapy. You’re the reason I’m in therapy, but I can’t remember why. My friends think you’re neurotic. I love you.
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To: You know
What is wrong with you. It’s visceral, the rage I feel knowing you think you’re a good person. That you’ve saved me. I confided in you, but all you saw was a story. A girl needing saving, fixing. You took my deepest fear and threw it in my face because it made you feel better. Did putting me down at every turn stroke that ego just the way you like? Did knowing you brought me to my lowest point just to push further bring you some sort of joy? I can’t believe I let myself think you were kind, the soul make to match my own. All you wanted to do was tear me down to your level, take each one of my accomplishments and discredit them until you felt whole. I get it, there can’t be two people seen as great. If there’s always a number one, it can’t be shared. But I will remind you here and now that if you’re making this a competition, I WILL win. For too long I let you make me think I was fragile, but you’re the daffodil.
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To: Sevin
I've never liked someone as much as Ive liked you and everyone is aware of it except you
You choose not to
Cuz you dont feel the same
And besides we didnt have the time and the circumstances to know each other better
I wonder if youve ever noticed me the way i notice you
The way your smile forms and your eyes shrink
Does anyone ever notice me like that?
The spring in your step when youre happy and the way you whistle with joy
The way you see things with such curiosity and show genuine worry when others mock her health condition
I shouldnt have looked at you for more than 3 seconds.
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To: The Poet
How could you do this to me? I don't think you're even aware of it, but you've fully consumed all of my thoughts. We grazed hands the other day and I thought I might die in that moment. I know I'm spoken for, this can't be had. We have a future together though, let me hold your hand while we walk and I'll prove it. Everything you say to me is art and it's crazy that we can say so much to one another and yet leave the words we really want to say unspoken. I'm terrified to get closer to you because I know what I want to do and I don't trust my hands not to ask for it. There's only a small chance of you ever seeing this, but I don't want to identify myself here in any way other than knowing you know that I need you to know who I am. Is that too obvious? Or should I go deeper, say something ridiculous? I won't, not this time, but I want to come back each day and write to you again. I've filled countless notebook pages trying to say something so perfect to you. I almost showed them to you the other day when we compared notebooks, but I didn't know how not to sound overwhelming. I am, I know I am, but god you're handsome and I keep forgetting who I am when I talk to you
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To: my best friend
We always said we were each other's favorites. We always had difficulty being mad at each other because we were so used to defending each other. We said we would make up for the people who couldn't give us everything we wanted. But, now I see I'm the only one who meant to keep that promise. No matter who came into my life you were my favorite. I was just a placeholder for you.