I’m living on a diet of sugar and sadness and I’m still trying to figure out how to digest you.
When can I tell this girl that she is using the word fastidious wrong, is also pronouncing it wrong, and should use words correctly, especially when trying to counteract others in arguments?
You told me I wrote strangely today, that the way I expressed myself was different, and I am confused.
sin-nyx asked: i love your writing. It's everything i want to say, but can't seem to write down correctly. it makes me cry, but in the way that someone out there understands.
I just want to say, a million times, thank you. I hope you don’t mind that I post this message. I am pleased that you can relate to me. I find it amazing that, as humans, we go through similar experiences and emotions without ever directly meeting, and I am glad you find a sort of comfort in what I write. Your support is what will keep me writing. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day!
It bothers me so much when I’m sitting right next to you and I fumble over my words, as if they’re the steps I tripped down earlier this morning while rushing out the door to be in class on time—so I could be sitting next to you on time. It hurts so much I start to choke on my silence, my hesitation, my stuttering. The words clog in my larynx like the dull sides of a potato chip stuck in my esophagus, and I continue to swallow the knives I call familiarity. You just sit there, sometimes with your head down in your sleeve, eyes closed, and I try to imagine how your own voice sounds in your head, and I wonder if love tastes just as bitter on your tongue as it does against mine; I wonder how many tears you save and how many you let go, and if you only allow them to fall when it’s raining. I wonder how you remember me, if you even do, when you’re sitting at home, fourth beer in your firm grip, cursing at Love for its detriment. Other times, you sit with your elbows on your knees, looking over at me, sometimes with a smirk or sometimes somberly, never saying anything. I wonder if you’re choking on your words, too, or if you’re wondering why I shy away from my feelings or why I smile even when the sky is gray and lifeless. Do you wonder about my secrets or are you stuck at a fork-road, one labeled, Accept Her, and the other labeled, Question Her—or are you creating a new path in between?
I took a sleeping pill, but it only worked to clear my head, so now I’m wide awake at 3:30 am, with absolutely nothing on my mind. Who’s with me???
I was slumped over the desk, falling asleep with my cheek against piles of papers marked with derivatives and indefinite integrals, when you gently tapped me and told me to wake up. Your eyes were very very green and I almost thought I was still sleeping as I smiled at you with my mouth closed, rubbed my head, and looked down at the loose leaf in front of me, spilled over and rumpled like tarnished bed sheets. This marks a second day we conversed naturally after five months of silence. I glanced around the room and felt you watching me, so soon I resorted to my work and ran my fingers through my hair every now and then as if deep in thought, but really my nerves were kicking in and I had no where else to go. It was comfortable nerves, though—not the kind you used to give me—and it’s a long shot and I’m not asking for anything, but to just please, stay like this so I can tell my daughters there is such thing as closure without anything being said.