I didn’t cry about not once seeing you on your birthday I didn’t cry when you chose not to go to prom I didn’t cry when you moved away I didn’t cry when I didn’t get to go to your graduation I didn’t cry when you left for college I didn’t cry when you moved again I didn’t cry when I went to prom without you I didn’t cry on my last day of school I won’t cry at my graduation
I didn’t get to say have a happy one I didn’t get to see you in a tux I didn’t see you much after that I didn’t get to congratulate you I didn’t get to see you at school anymore I didn’t get to help you pack I didn’t get to dance with my best friend I didn’t care, I never felt like I belonged I won’t have to miss my real friends; they’ll be around
But there’s one friend who won’t be here, and it’s one in the morning and that’s what I’m crying about. It’s been almost six months since we’ve had a real conversation. I wish I could stop missing you. I really do.
There was this beautiful moment, a long time ago now, but in spite of the memory being blurred by age, still precious.
It was pouring down rain, and I was watching from the couch. My eyes followed the water as it slid down the window like a child looking out at a sunny day, not allowed to go outside.
But soon I couldn’t stand it anymore. I walked to the back slider and flung it open, ran right outside without shutting the door. I reached my arms up over my head, looking up at the sky and half expecting something to be there.
It felt like anything was possible.
I remember telling you how much I loved rain. I remember that very first time I wished you were with me.
As it turns out, loneliness is a learned misery; it is only felt when something dear to you is misplaced. Or displaced. Or just not in your place, with you.
It wasn’t long after we met that you were in my heart— building a little nest for yourself there, maybe without even realizing it. And it was funny to me that I let you have that space so easily. And it was a challenge, an adventure, to see if I might find a place in yours.
You have left this little nest, I’m not even sure how long ago. But it remains, tucked in a corner of my heart; between branches of arteries and veins. It’s part of me now.
It’s your place— try as I might, I can’t find another tenant. If you ever decide to come back, it will still be here.
“A gold violin. I saw one at the Met. It was beautiful—perfect in every way. Except it couldn’t make music.”
tomorrow is senior check out i think so i have to get up at like 8 and find out if i’m actually graduating i don’t even care anymore it’s just that i have to deal with my mother and sister screaming at me about school
Why wouldn’t you be graduating? HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW SDEJEKADFJZCGZFJIF D:
heehehehehehehehehehe it’s really hard to restrain myself sometimes
It is four in the morning. It’s quiet except for the hum of the fan, and the rhythm of the clock I can’t sleep without. The dark is broken only by the tiny green glow of the cable box, though my eyes imagine shapes in the blackness, little orbs and wraiths that sway in the air, the products of insomnia and imagination recently freed. The little pink tea lights I discovered in my nightstand drawer yesterday sit across from me, but I know this only because of the sweet, nostalgic smell they give off. They smell like the end of a Spring a hundred years ago. They remind me of sitting on carpet, surrounded by flickering light; my little halo. My shelter. They make me think of the purple walls I grew to hate, the color that kept my room so dark. The window I kept open in an attempt to let light in. To let other things I knew to be good in.
Amazing how just a smell can bring back so many lost memories.
Washing my face at four in the morning is familiar too. The cold sensation of gentle moving air on my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps over my arms and shoulders. I remember that summer I cut almost six inches of the soft blonde hair he loved and tossed it in the trash like I was glad to be rid of it. I was glad. I loved the freshly cut tips of my hair just brushing my shoulders, not even reaching my collar bone. It felt like freedom. From the hair and from him.
“despite everyone around the world hating you guys
you’re still all like
“god bless america” and
“america is the greatest country”
i hate this shit
it makes me want to bomb your country lol
the positive side of this is good”
– morning wisdom from MH
from 5.18.13. (1/2)
from 5.18.13. (2/2)
“I could have lost my head a long time ago, but the way I see things, we’re alive. No matter what, we’re still alive.”
Where are the reigns? Are they slipping from your hands? Is it a difficult thing, trying to keep up with demand?
You wake up every morning with fingertips roaming searching for a good reason to stop repeating these lies that you’ve practiced; in your world they are the axis. These seeds of loathing that you’re sowing are self-destruction trees growing. Their roots intertwine with your veins and through your mind. And those roaming fingertips cannot replace the lips or the words that came from them, the ones that soothed you back then.
The past is darkness, you give yourself headaches trying to see it. You’d do sick things to be it just one more time, if you could just redraw the line. But it’s fine, you can keep these illusions in your mind. Not a crime, if you’re the one who pays the fine.
But in your heart, you know you’re not the only one doing time.
Outside flowers are wilting, memories cloud your head, filling it with an impenetrable fog. And does it seem wrong that you’re singing the same song that you swore you’d silence whether it be through words or violence. And you know, it is violent the act of staying silent, trying to be quiet when your soul is screaming out.