The irritating thing about A is that she keeps trying to get me to talk about what happened with C, like this all stems back to those hellish eight months I endured six? years ago. And while maybe she has a point because I know that the entire situation fucked with my perceptions and ability to trust myself and set boundaries and ruined relationships, it's not all about the things that C inflicted on me and made me think. Years before we even met, it's always been me and my fucked up brain doing stupid shit and wanting everything to stop.
Some days I don't know if I even want to get better. How fucked up is that?
Showing posts with label a page of my ?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a page of my ?. Show all posts
Saturday, 14 October 2017
Sunday, 18 June 2017
the storms came, the winds changed
everyone, a especially, keeps telling me that things will get better, things will get easier, i deserve more. some days i think they're right. more often i wish i could believe what they say as wholly as they do. the problem is always that i want--you can never get sick of wanting.
at the very least, i don't cry every day any more. though i'm not sure if that would have been any better than constantly feeling like i'm living through a grey haze.
all those things i read about, that i wrote about--none of it really existed until now.
it's hardest to see that everybody else is so happy. l is moving to sydney to be with w. c and other l are both making plans for their weddings. c and r are travelling together. j is moving in with k. m, t, w and d are all looking at buying houses and making real lives. n is organising a surprise for c. w just got married. s is getting married next week. a and j are about to leave for travels. h and e are getting engaged.
i wish i didn't feel so bitter when i look at how excited they all are. i wish i didn't begrudge them their happiness. but i am, incredibly so, because i honestly thought that this year would be the end of it. that this year would be a good year. so far though 2017 is kicking my ass real hard with a whole bunch of emotional pain.
lies and cries and broken ties
at the very least, i don't cry every day any more. though i'm not sure if that would have been any better than constantly feeling like i'm living through a grey haze.
all those things i read about, that i wrote about--none of it really existed until now.
it's hardest to see that everybody else is so happy. l is moving to sydney to be with w. c and other l are both making plans for their weddings. c and r are travelling together. j is moving in with k. m, t, w and d are all looking at buying houses and making real lives. n is organising a surprise for c. w just got married. s is getting married next week. a and j are about to leave for travels. h and e are getting engaged.
i wish i didn't feel so bitter when i look at how excited they all are. i wish i didn't begrudge them their happiness. but i am, incredibly so, because i honestly thought that this year would be the end of it. that this year would be a good year. so far though 2017 is kicking my ass real hard with a whole bunch of emotional pain.
lies and cries and broken ties
Tuesday, 25 April 2017
Monday, 30 March 2015
when i fall down it's just me and the ground
No matter how much I try to stay away, only coming back in fits and starts, things aren't actually that much easier to deal with. Things are very much one step forward, two steps back. Some days I think that I'm better. More often, perhaps, I tell myself that I am because I want, so desperately, to be. I don't even know, really, what happened that was so bad, how things got so bad, that I'm here now. (This is a lie; I know. I wish the encounter had been less hostile, but I shouldn't have been surprised. It always was my fault, anyway.)
I spend a lot of time swinging between feeling angry, and apathetic, and incredibly sad, and pretending that things are going to be all right. So. Yeah. I'm spending a lot of time kind of flailing around in the dark, trying to figure out what the fuck is actually going on.
I wish I had been strong enough back then to really tell somebody in my direct, personal life about what happened during those long months. Speaking to L helped a lot, but what good was that when I could never have more than the words on the page, could never feel her arms around me in an embrace of solidarity, reassurance that I could move on one day. (And I have, mostly.) But then again, even if I had the chance to change something, I would still make the choice not to tell. Nobody else deserves to have to shoulder this alongside me; I would rather keep them safe in their belief that these sorts of things don't happen to their friends. In the end, it was only ever on me to make my decisions. And I made all the wrong ones.
K and M, I know, suspect; G, I think, knows and blames herself. I have never heard her mention C again, and a part of me regrets that - they were close before. I want to tell her that it's not her fault, that she could no more predict what happened than I could, but how can I now? When so much time has passed and we have never spoken of it. The more time passes, the less often we speak, and the easier it is to just keep silent.
There are days when I want to cling to someone and cry. There are more days when I keep it all together in front of everyone and not let on that life can still hurt you, even after you go through so much shit. It's interesting how people rarely pick up on the false cheer, or the way it feels like my mouth is going to melt off my face, or the way that I've apparently perfected not letting on that I am constantly braced for--something. It's easy to see only what we want to see; easier still when you have no notion of how closely the darkness can hang over others. For all the empathy and sympathy we have, most of the time words are still only words until they hit someone close to you.
Even though I cry over sad things, it's the things that give me hope that make me cry the hardest. I'm making time these days to go back and sit down with A again. I need it. Apart from L, she is the only one who knows the truth about the secrets of that time. She told me recently that one day, no matter what, I would be happy again, that we would, we all would, and every day would have smiles and laughter. It's hard to remember that, most of all, but I try to believe it.
I spend a lot of time swinging between feeling angry, and apathetic, and incredibly sad, and pretending that things are going to be all right. So. Yeah. I'm spending a lot of time kind of flailing around in the dark, trying to figure out what the fuck is actually going on.
I wish I had been strong enough back then to really tell somebody in my direct, personal life about what happened during those long months. Speaking to L helped a lot, but what good was that when I could never have more than the words on the page, could never feel her arms around me in an embrace of solidarity, reassurance that I could move on one day. (And I have, mostly.) But then again, even if I had the chance to change something, I would still make the choice not to tell. Nobody else deserves to have to shoulder this alongside me; I would rather keep them safe in their belief that these sorts of things don't happen to their friends. In the end, it was only ever on me to make my decisions. And I made all the wrong ones.
K and M, I know, suspect; G, I think, knows and blames herself. I have never heard her mention C again, and a part of me regrets that - they were close before. I want to tell her that it's not her fault, that she could no more predict what happened than I could, but how can I now? When so much time has passed and we have never spoken of it. The more time passes, the less often we speak, and the easier it is to just keep silent.
There are days when I want to cling to someone and cry. There are more days when I keep it all together in front of everyone and not let on that life can still hurt you, even after you go through so much shit. It's interesting how people rarely pick up on the false cheer, or the way it feels like my mouth is going to melt off my face, or the way that I've apparently perfected not letting on that I am constantly braced for--something. It's easy to see only what we want to see; easier still when you have no notion of how closely the darkness can hang over others. For all the empathy and sympathy we have, most of the time words are still only words until they hit someone close to you.
Even though I cry over sad things, it's the things that give me hope that make me cry the hardest. I'm making time these days to go back and sit down with A again. I need it. Apart from L, she is the only one who knows the truth about the secrets of that time. She told me recently that one day, no matter what, I would be happy again, that we would, we all would, and every day would have smiles and laughter. It's hard to remember that, most of all, but I try to believe it.
Monday, 6 October 2014
losing sleep for days, is this just a phase?
You feel guilty a lot. You're not anywhere near the best friend, even when you do happen to be at your best. You think that you can't blame others for sliding you back down the scale to 'friend', 'acquaintance', for being irate with you. You're sorry for it, for withdrawing; though what does that matter when you don't--won't say it to their face. You want to be better, but--
You don't like to talk. You like to think about what you're going to say before you say it (which doesn't always necessarily work out, but you like to Try) because you want to be able to say what you mean, and because there's Too Much inside your head. It's hard to keep track of all the things you need to do and to say without letting anything else irrelevant spill out. You can't risk it. You need to keep yourself to yourself, because your mind is Too Much, Too Big, for an outlet that is as small as your mouth, as the words you let scrawl across the page. You can't let anyone else know what horribly beautiful (or is it beautifully horrible?) things are locked inside your mind.
There's something that shouldn't be messed with, and that thing is your mind. Really, you don't want to be crazy. You've heard it before - you're a little different (or what others call 'special' when they don't want to hurt your feelings by saying what they really mean). You're a little bit risky, a little bit scary, a lot not enough. You've always wished you could be brave enough to be what you admire in others.
You're an introvert, you know. Perhaps you're just simply not built for interaction. People like you don't function with society.
You don't like to talk. You like to think about what you're going to say before you say it (which doesn't always necessarily work out, but you like to Try) because you want to be able to say what you mean, and because there's Too Much inside your head. It's hard to keep track of all the things you need to do and to say without letting anything else irrelevant spill out. You can't risk it. You need to keep yourself to yourself, because your mind is Too Much, Too Big, for an outlet that is as small as your mouth, as the words you let scrawl across the page. You can't let anyone else know what horribly beautiful (or is it beautifully horrible?) things are locked inside your mind.
There's something that shouldn't be messed with, and that thing is your mind. Really, you don't want to be crazy. You've heard it before - you're a little different (or what others call 'special' when they don't want to hurt your feelings by saying what they really mean). You're a little bit risky, a little bit scary, a lot not enough. You've always wished you could be brave enough to be what you admire in others.
You're an introvert, you know. Perhaps you're just simply not built for interaction. People like you don't function with society.
Monday, 23 December 2013
21 love letters
♡ 01
I'm yours and I love you for who you are, for the ways that we are the same and yet different. I'll do what I can to make you proud and happy. I count myself lucky in so many ways, to not have to go through the same things that you have, but also to know you and your strength; I'm proud of you. There are very few times that I find myself irritated by you and I can't wait for the day that we come together again, this time as true friends who know each other.
♡ 02
We've drifted a fair bit, in recent months. But I think that's only to be expected, with the physical and time distances that separate us. I hope you know that no matter what happens to you, I love you, no matter what difference we may have in life or in perspective. We don't need to be in constant communication to care, but I'll always be here when you need me.
♡ 03
I love you for giving me so many memories, for helping me as a writer, for developing my sense of humor. I've told you everything I thought, good and bad, for a few years now. You listened. You talked. I listened. It'll be harder when you're far away, but I will always care. I feel incredibly myself around you, which is not true of all my friendships. I hope you feel the same way, and I hope it lasts forever.
♡ 04
You take care of me and you make me laugh; I feel so comfortable with you. I feel like I can talk to you about anything, joke with you about stupid things, trust you to guide me whenever things are difficult. To have you now makes me feel incredibly lucky. I'm so glad you're in my life, and I still hope to be whatever you need me to be. I hope that, as I grow up, as I mature, I come to truly appreciate you the way I should. Thank you for being you.
♡ 05
There are a lot of people in my life that I care for and give advice to, but somehow, you are more like a little sister than any of them. Thank you for trusting me enough to turn to me when you need someone. When you're down, remember that you're one of my most important people. I truly believe that things will get better. Let's work hard together.
♡ 06
I don't know if we'll ever be best friends, but I like you a lot. I like spending time with you. I like joking with you and teasing each other. I think we share a lot of the same interests and values, and you're a lot of fun.
♡ 07
I love your intelligence and humor and elitism. I love you for spending time with me, for letting me get to know you. Your shoes are cute, your outfits are cute, YOU are cute. You always make me smile.
♡ 08
I don't always feel comfortable around you, but I know that's because I know you have so many qualities that I wish I had. I love you for always being thoughtful and concerned and sometimes, worrying too much, but always trying to look out for me. You're definitely one of the nicest people that I know.
♡ 09
You and I have a lot of memories. We have a lot of history and influence. We have a lot of empty space between us, but I don't think it changes the fact that we're important to each other. I hope not. Thank you for being there for me.
♡ 10
We haven't talked as much this year, but I understand what life is like. I will always understand, so please never worry if time lapses into months before we catch up. I will happily listen to anecdotes about your life, or complaints, or anything, because you're - I don't know quite what you are. Good friend, practically sister, someone I trust and admire and love deeply.
♡ 11
I may not be enough, and I can't do everything, but I hope I can still do (be) something for you. You've had a lot of impact in my life, even though I think you remain largely unaware of it. You're enthusiastic and sweet and one of my favourite people. I hope we can become even closer. I'm so happy for the opportunities that you've received, even though I'll miss having you around in my every day life.
♡ 12
I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say this, but you are incredible. You're one of the people I admire most in the world because of the way you live your life: you're so intelligent and observant. You're thoughtful. You're creative. You can make something out of your life, and I will be glad to know you.
♡ 13
I love you for your hard work, for being smart and (mostly) level-headed. I think we share a lot of priorities and hopes. You will live your own life and I will live mine, but there will always be something that ties us together, and I'm grateful for that. It's this thing we call friendship.
♡ 14
I'm glad we're keeping in touch and I hope it will always be true; distance will never separate us, because I will make every effort to close those distances. You're another person I feel like I can tell almost everything, no matter how different we are (and we are quite different). I hope we will never lose this. I will not let us ever lose this.
♡ 15
I love the way you make me laugh. I love the way you make me smile. I love the way you're familiar and beautiful and a reminder of some of the best times of my life. I love you for showing me what some of the most important things in life are. Thank you.
♡ 16
For all that I talk about how much I dislike you, I know you have qualities I admire. I know people like you for a reason. Hell, I like you well enough, and there are reasons for that too. I think you try (maybe not hard enough), but at least you try. Remember what's important and what's not; remember that you need to take time off and enjoy life (make memories), but remember that the priorities need to be put first.
♡ 17
I don't know how to define how I feel about you. Sometimes I don't know what to do with you, sometimes I feel as though I could be so easily replaced with you, sometimes I don't know what advice I can give you, but I will always listen and care. Sometimes I feel like you don't have your priorities straight, so take care of yourself, okay?
♡ 18
You're a combination of young and old for me, maybe because you're at an age where you're teetering on the edge of society's conceptions of this. You haven't had all the life experiences yet, and you don't quite get the intricacies of relationships. I don't mean to be patronising at all, because I know I'm still much the same: sheltered and "innocent" to many aspects of life. I think you have the most important priorities right, which will guide your life. Grow up, learn, be successful; you know what's important.
♡ 19
You're passionate. You care. You're a friend. Sometimes I think you're wise beyond your years, even if you don't feel the same. I love being able to talk to you about so many things. You're smart and capable and you know what you want in life. Get out there and work for it. You'll be fine.
♡ 20
I want to feel your arms around me when we hug, without the distance of virtual silence and dead air. I want more than letters shaping words that I can't hear, more than emojis that I will never see, heart shapes that stand in for real emotion. I don't think you're useless or unlovable; you're far too human for that. You've been through so much and things are so hard for you, but you're trying as much as you can. I wish I could be there to hold your hand through it all.
♡ 21
You've helped me discover so many parts of myself. You've given me reasons and reminders to love life, to love myself. You've carved such deep impressions on me. We might not always agree or get along, but you're so precious to me. I hope that one day, I can do for someone what you've done for me.
I'm yours and I love you for who you are, for the ways that we are the same and yet different. I'll do what I can to make you proud and happy. I count myself lucky in so many ways, to not have to go through the same things that you have, but also to know you and your strength; I'm proud of you. There are very few times that I find myself irritated by you and I can't wait for the day that we come together again, this time as true friends who know each other.
♡ 02
We've drifted a fair bit, in recent months. But I think that's only to be expected, with the physical and time distances that separate us. I hope you know that no matter what happens to you, I love you, no matter what difference we may have in life or in perspective. We don't need to be in constant communication to care, but I'll always be here when you need me.
♡ 03
I love you for giving me so many memories, for helping me as a writer, for developing my sense of humor. I've told you everything I thought, good and bad, for a few years now. You listened. You talked. I listened. It'll be harder when you're far away, but I will always care. I feel incredibly myself around you, which is not true of all my friendships. I hope you feel the same way, and I hope it lasts forever.
♡ 04
You take care of me and you make me laugh; I feel so comfortable with you. I feel like I can talk to you about anything, joke with you about stupid things, trust you to guide me whenever things are difficult. To have you now makes me feel incredibly lucky. I'm so glad you're in my life, and I still hope to be whatever you need me to be. I hope that, as I grow up, as I mature, I come to truly appreciate you the way I should. Thank you for being you.
♡ 05
There are a lot of people in my life that I care for and give advice to, but somehow, you are more like a little sister than any of them. Thank you for trusting me enough to turn to me when you need someone. When you're down, remember that you're one of my most important people. I truly believe that things will get better. Let's work hard together.
♡ 06
I don't know if we'll ever be best friends, but I like you a lot. I like spending time with you. I like joking with you and teasing each other. I think we share a lot of the same interests and values, and you're a lot of fun.
♡ 07
I love your intelligence and humor and elitism. I love you for spending time with me, for letting me get to know you. Your shoes are cute, your outfits are cute, YOU are cute. You always make me smile.
♡ 08
I don't always feel comfortable around you, but I know that's because I know you have so many qualities that I wish I had. I love you for always being thoughtful and concerned and sometimes, worrying too much, but always trying to look out for me. You're definitely one of the nicest people that I know.
♡ 09
You and I have a lot of memories. We have a lot of history and influence. We have a lot of empty space between us, but I don't think it changes the fact that we're important to each other. I hope not. Thank you for being there for me.
♡ 10
We haven't talked as much this year, but I understand what life is like. I will always understand, so please never worry if time lapses into months before we catch up. I will happily listen to anecdotes about your life, or complaints, or anything, because you're - I don't know quite what you are. Good friend, practically sister, someone I trust and admire and love deeply.
♡ 11
I may not be enough, and I can't do everything, but I hope I can still do (be) something for you. You've had a lot of impact in my life, even though I think you remain largely unaware of it. You're enthusiastic and sweet and one of my favourite people. I hope we can become even closer. I'm so happy for the opportunities that you've received, even though I'll miss having you around in my every day life.
♡ 12
I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say this, but you are incredible. You're one of the people I admire most in the world because of the way you live your life: you're so intelligent and observant. You're thoughtful. You're creative. You can make something out of your life, and I will be glad to know you.
♡ 13
I love you for your hard work, for being smart and (mostly) level-headed. I think we share a lot of priorities and hopes. You will live your own life and I will live mine, but there will always be something that ties us together, and I'm grateful for that. It's this thing we call friendship.
♡ 14
I'm glad we're keeping in touch and I hope it will always be true; distance will never separate us, because I will make every effort to close those distances. You're another person I feel like I can tell almost everything, no matter how different we are (and we are quite different). I hope we will never lose this. I will not let us ever lose this.
♡ 15
I love the way you make me laugh. I love the way you make me smile. I love the way you're familiar and beautiful and a reminder of some of the best times of my life. I love you for showing me what some of the most important things in life are. Thank you.
♡ 16
For all that I talk about how much I dislike you, I know you have qualities I admire. I know people like you for a reason. Hell, I like you well enough, and there are reasons for that too. I think you try (maybe not hard enough), but at least you try. Remember what's important and what's not; remember that you need to take time off and enjoy life (make memories), but remember that the priorities need to be put first.
♡ 17
I don't know how to define how I feel about you. Sometimes I don't know what to do with you, sometimes I feel as though I could be so easily replaced with you, sometimes I don't know what advice I can give you, but I will always listen and care. Sometimes I feel like you don't have your priorities straight, so take care of yourself, okay?
♡ 18
You're a combination of young and old for me, maybe because you're at an age where you're teetering on the edge of society's conceptions of this. You haven't had all the life experiences yet, and you don't quite get the intricacies of relationships. I don't mean to be patronising at all, because I know I'm still much the same: sheltered and "innocent" to many aspects of life. I think you have the most important priorities right, which will guide your life. Grow up, learn, be successful; you know what's important.
♡ 19
You're passionate. You care. You're a friend. Sometimes I think you're wise beyond your years, even if you don't feel the same. I love being able to talk to you about so many things. You're smart and capable and you know what you want in life. Get out there and work for it. You'll be fine.
♡ 20
I want to feel your arms around me when we hug, without the distance of virtual silence and dead air. I want more than letters shaping words that I can't hear, more than emojis that I will never see, heart shapes that stand in for real emotion. I don't think you're useless or unlovable; you're far too human for that. You've been through so much and things are so hard for you, but you're trying as much as you can. I wish I could be there to hold your hand through it all.
♡ 21
You've helped me discover so many parts of myself. You've given me reasons and reminders to love life, to love myself. You've carved such deep impressions on me. We might not always agree or get along, but you're so precious to me. I hope that one day, I can do for someone what you've done for me.
Friday, 13 December 2013
[x] writings; three
he breaks her heart when they're eight. he doesn't do it on purpose, but it happens all the same. his little boy hands aren't enough when she asks him to hold on to her heart for her. he doesn't do it on purpose. her heart slips and falls through his fingers and her eyes go wide. she scrambles to catch it, but gets tangled up in all her feathers. the air shudders with the impact of a silent boom of thunder, and then everything cracks. when she collects herself enough to look, her heart lies broken on the floor. he babbles apologies, but she just smiles, small and detached, and tells him it's not his fault. she kneels down and carefully picks up the broken pieces of her heart. she tries as best as she can to mend it, but nothing works.
in the end, she's left with two halves of a beating heart that she doesn't know what to do with.
--
he thinks about splashing, smearing, clogging up dirty alley walls with vivid, sharp paint. he thinks about swirling leaves and gang leader faces, petty, childish flirtations, and deeper, lasting, bonding friendships. he thinks about fires and ambulances, newspapers and life support; breaking, crying over his girl looking fragile and drowning in white cotton and hearing that she might make it. she might. he thinks about how he clung to that hope that she'd survive, and hearing that a clumsy doctor tripped the cord.
he thinks about suffocating funerals and dying in the dirt, and future promises that changed from i will to we will that broke.
--
her hair is this impossible shade of red. it's this shaded, jaded, glorious amaranth that makes him want to rip the petals out of the flowers that she's carrying. it's a colour that is so achingly familiar that, for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. it's morbidly fascinating, watching this girl frisk along in dark ribbons and lace and silk that she has no right to be wearing. the leaves flutter up around her as she totters down the sidewalk, kicking at the piles. her feet aren't broken in for these clunky heels and he locks his eyes on her ankles, brittle and wobbling and threatening to snap and collapse under her. he can't look her in the eyes, because her eyes are just as wide and just as artificial candy blue as he remembers, but the difference is that the last time he remembers seeing her, her eyes had learned how to hold back the burn of tears. these eyes look like they're always crying.
do you remember? he wants to ask but doesn't because if he does, she'll look at him and ask, who are you?
in the end, she's left with two halves of a beating heart that she doesn't know what to do with.
--
he thinks about splashing, smearing, clogging up dirty alley walls with vivid, sharp paint. he thinks about swirling leaves and gang leader faces, petty, childish flirtations, and deeper, lasting, bonding friendships. he thinks about fires and ambulances, newspapers and life support; breaking, crying over his girl looking fragile and drowning in white cotton and hearing that she might make it. she might. he thinks about how he clung to that hope that she'd survive, and hearing that a clumsy doctor tripped the cord.
he thinks about suffocating funerals and dying in the dirt, and future promises that changed from i will to we will that broke.
--
her hair is this impossible shade of red. it's this shaded, jaded, glorious amaranth that makes him want to rip the petals out of the flowers that she's carrying. it's a colour that is so achingly familiar that, for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. it's morbidly fascinating, watching this girl frisk along in dark ribbons and lace and silk that she has no right to be wearing. the leaves flutter up around her as she totters down the sidewalk, kicking at the piles. her feet aren't broken in for these clunky heels and he locks his eyes on her ankles, brittle and wobbling and threatening to snap and collapse under her. he can't look her in the eyes, because her eyes are just as wide and just as artificial candy blue as he remembers, but the difference is that the last time he remembers seeing her, her eyes had learned how to hold back the burn of tears. these eyes look like they're always crying.
do you remember? he wants to ask but doesn't because if he does, she'll look at him and ask, who are you?
Friday, 25 October 2013
[x] fragment dump #1
More snippets related to the world this is in. Real backlogging tomorrow night, I swear.
It's easier to remember control sometimes, when she is around him. When she's close to him, it's easy to remember just how easily she could snap and break him. She has to be in control around him, has to be, because he is one thing that she will protect. He has four different kinds of green ties and he likes the one with thin silver stripes through it best, she recites to herself. His favourite colour is red and always has been and he's afraid of--
"Hey, are you okay?" And then her vision is filled with a bright smile and endlessly blue eyes.
"Fine," she says and the smile she gives in return reaches her eyes easily. Nothing is ever faked when she's around him.
"Good," he says, and throws an arm over her shoulder. She tries to ignore the way that heat spreads all through her from the points where they're touching, how just this one action has her heart beating double time. "Let's go out for lunch."
--
Everyone knows that she doesn't mean to be cruel, it's just the way that she is: careless with people that she doesn't love. And she is so careful, so selective about who she chooses to love. People count themselves lucky, to be able to say with confidence that they are friends with her. And they are lucky, because once you have earned yourself a piece of her heart, it is yours forever. There aren't many who can say they are friends with her, and there are even less who can say, with absolute certainty, that she would do anything for them. She is fiercely loyal to those she calls her own. Everyone knows that she doesn't mean to be cruel but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see that, for all that their group is so tightly-knit, he is the only one that she watches so carefully; that she is able to dismiss them so easily. It still hurts to see that she is careless with people who are not hers.
--
Love, you think, and then, no. Not love, never love. I love you, too, is on the tip of your tongue, because that's what you've learned to say, to say without meaning. It's what was drilled in to you: love your friends but don't love your friends. You won't--you can't say anything that she wants to hear so you don't say anything at all. Love. You think that she has no idea what love is.
--
She chokes back a sob and lurches forward, clutching at your shirt, winding her fingers in the thin material. You wonder, distantly, how long it has been. Will the others have noticed your disappearance, or will they just write it off as the two of you being you again? The thought brings a laugh burbling to your lips - you would deserve it, after night after night spent sneaking out of the bathroom window and disappearing until dawn even when it was prohibited. She helps you to stand, walksdrags the both of you on to the ledge, toes just over the edge. She sways slightly, rocking you along with her, pressing against the railing. It bites into your stomach and you reach out, fingers finding the worn, faint, barely there scratches of a melody beneath your fingertips. The city lights flash and blur as you stare blindly into them and remember.
It's easier to remember control sometimes, when she is around him. When she's close to him, it's easy to remember just how easily she could snap and break him. She has to be in control around him, has to be, because he is one thing that she will protect. He has four different kinds of green ties and he likes the one with thin silver stripes through it best, she recites to herself. His favourite colour is red and always has been and he's afraid of--
"Hey, are you okay?" And then her vision is filled with a bright smile and endlessly blue eyes.
"Fine," she says and the smile she gives in return reaches her eyes easily. Nothing is ever faked when she's around him.
"Good," he says, and throws an arm over her shoulder. She tries to ignore the way that heat spreads all through her from the points where they're touching, how just this one action has her heart beating double time. "Let's go out for lunch."
--
Everyone knows that she doesn't mean to be cruel, it's just the way that she is: careless with people that she doesn't love. And she is so careful, so selective about who she chooses to love. People count themselves lucky, to be able to say with confidence that they are friends with her. And they are lucky, because once you have earned yourself a piece of her heart, it is yours forever. There aren't many who can say they are friends with her, and there are even less who can say, with absolute certainty, that she would do anything for them. She is fiercely loyal to those she calls her own. Everyone knows that she doesn't mean to be cruel but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see that, for all that their group is so tightly-knit, he is the only one that she watches so carefully; that she is able to dismiss them so easily. It still hurts to see that she is careless with people who are not hers.
--
Love, you think, and then, no. Not love, never love. I love you, too, is on the tip of your tongue, because that's what you've learned to say, to say without meaning. It's what was drilled in to you: love your friends but don't love your friends. You won't--you can't say anything that she wants to hear so you don't say anything at all. Love. You think that she has no idea what love is.
--
She chokes back a sob and lurches forward, clutching at your shirt, winding her fingers in the thin material. You wonder, distantly, how long it has been. Will the others have noticed your disappearance, or will they just write it off as the two of you being you again? The thought brings a laugh burbling to your lips - you would deserve it, after night after night spent sneaking out of the bathroom window and disappearing until dawn even when it was prohibited. She helps you to stand, walksdrags the both of you on to the ledge, toes just over the edge. She sways slightly, rocking you along with her, pressing against the railing. It bites into your stomach and you reach out, fingers finding the worn, faint, barely there scratches of a melody beneath your fingertips. The city lights flash and blur as you stare blindly into them and remember.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
[x] remnants of a past
You usually try to avoid leaving at this time. On some days, the ones where it doesn't matter if you miss the first ten or so minutes of class, you leave later. Those days get you lectures from your mother on how precious time is; most days you just leave earlier to spare yourself from it all. Everything's busy at this time, sounds and images that blur and distort as you make your way down the pavement. The streets are roaring with the engines of cars, buses; if you listen closely you can hear the alarm bells of the trams and the boom gates at the train station.
Your bag sits heavy on your shoulder, dragging you down on one side both with its weight and the hair that's been trapped underneath the strap. You've been growing it out lately - you don't trust anyone in your family to come near you with scissors (years of uneven cuts and bangs in primary school taught you that, though nobody cared about that back then. It's only looking back at those photos now that has you cringing) and you've never made an appointment at the hairdresser. When you reach to lift the strap and tug the strands free, you stumble off-balance, figures pushing past you on each side of the narrow sidewalk. When you look up again, there are two boys with backpacks so large that you can't even see their torsos behind them racing ahead to the pedestrian lights, desperate to start crossing before the lights change and the traffic starts up again.
They don't make it and there's a brief battle over who pushes the button as you draw up and come to stand behind them. The boys are very young, their voices not yet broken; it makes you smile a little. A pair of sneakers enters your peripheral vision and you take a glance over at the woman in her beige suit. It looks a bit ridiculous, sneakers with a suit, but you can sympathise with that when you spot the top of a black heel peeking out from her handbag. If you were running around all day in high heels, you'd want a pair of comfortable shoes at the start and the end of the day, too. She doesn't notice your glance, she's too busy chattering into her mobile phone. You can't hear anything she's saying, her words blending into the constant drone of sound, but there's a nice timbre to her voice. Before you can turn your attention back to the pedestrian lights another voice cuts into your hears, loud and piercing.
The voice belongs to a girl whose group of friends are arrayed around her. Her school blazer is unbuttoned, the dress tight across her chest with the first button undone, white socks slouching around skinny ankles. The whole ensemble is dragged slightly off centre by the Country Road bag draped over her shoulder. She drags manicured nails through her hair and continues to talk. She pauses as one of the other girls chimes in and glances around at the crowd of people waiting. Too late, you move to look away but she's already caught you, turning her head to look at you. You avert your eyes quickly, ducking your head to check the time on your watch.
You can feel her gaze lingering on you, appraising you, and you are suddenly so horribly conscious of your faded school uniform (it was your sister's before it was yours because "it's still got some wear in it left") and your scuffed shoes. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, spreading flush down your neck, even as she turns back to her friends. You can hear her make a comment, and as the lights change and the signal starts to beat, all her friends burst into high-pitched giggles.
You cross the road quickly, weaving between the people, and stride ahead so you can leave behind the girls who are dawdling across the road in a straight line, immersed in their gossip. You feel the prickles of annoyance, hating them for their obvious vacuity, but hating yourself more for envying it. You could never be like them. You have your friends but you could never be like them, exuding such casual indifference, engaging in such mindless conversation.
But you wish you could. You wish you could be one of those rich private school girls, beautiful and confident and so goddamn sure of your place in the world.
***
When one has something they really don't want to do, there are suddenly a thousand things that suddenly seem so much more appealing. For me, in this past week, it entailed sorting out a box of books and papers from my high school days that had been haphazardly shoved into my closet.
My mother usually bemoans the fact that I like to hoard. Somehow, I simply cannot bear to get rid of anything. "But what if one day..." I tell myself, as I pack away yet more boxes full of papers and trinkets that I doubt I will ever look at again. Still, sometimes hoarding is not such a bad thing, I think. At the very least, you have the opportunity to stumble across a multitude of goods you had forgotten about. In my case, it was the excerpt from above. Judging from the contents, it's from...2006? or thereabouts. I was thirteen, then.
A lot of things have changed since I wrote this. It's funny how, in some ways, I feel I haven't changed at all.
Your bag sits heavy on your shoulder, dragging you down on one side both with its weight and the hair that's been trapped underneath the strap. You've been growing it out lately - you don't trust anyone in your family to come near you with scissors (years of uneven cuts and bangs in primary school taught you that, though nobody cared about that back then. It's only looking back at those photos now that has you cringing) and you've never made an appointment at the hairdresser. When you reach to lift the strap and tug the strands free, you stumble off-balance, figures pushing past you on each side of the narrow sidewalk. When you look up again, there are two boys with backpacks so large that you can't even see their torsos behind them racing ahead to the pedestrian lights, desperate to start crossing before the lights change and the traffic starts up again.
They don't make it and there's a brief battle over who pushes the button as you draw up and come to stand behind them. The boys are very young, their voices not yet broken; it makes you smile a little. A pair of sneakers enters your peripheral vision and you take a glance over at the woman in her beige suit. It looks a bit ridiculous, sneakers with a suit, but you can sympathise with that when you spot the top of a black heel peeking out from her handbag. If you were running around all day in high heels, you'd want a pair of comfortable shoes at the start and the end of the day, too. She doesn't notice your glance, she's too busy chattering into her mobile phone. You can't hear anything she's saying, her words blending into the constant drone of sound, but there's a nice timbre to her voice. Before you can turn your attention back to the pedestrian lights another voice cuts into your hears, loud and piercing.
The voice belongs to a girl whose group of friends are arrayed around her. Her school blazer is unbuttoned, the dress tight across her chest with the first button undone, white socks slouching around skinny ankles. The whole ensemble is dragged slightly off centre by the Country Road bag draped over her shoulder. She drags manicured nails through her hair and continues to talk. She pauses as one of the other girls chimes in and glances around at the crowd of people waiting. Too late, you move to look away but she's already caught you, turning her head to look at you. You avert your eyes quickly, ducking your head to check the time on your watch.
You can feel her gaze lingering on you, appraising you, and you are suddenly so horribly conscious of your faded school uniform (it was your sister's before it was yours because "it's still got some wear in it left") and your scuffed shoes. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, spreading flush down your neck, even as she turns back to her friends. You can hear her make a comment, and as the lights change and the signal starts to beat, all her friends burst into high-pitched giggles.
You cross the road quickly, weaving between the people, and stride ahead so you can leave behind the girls who are dawdling across the road in a straight line, immersed in their gossip. You feel the prickles of annoyance, hating them for their obvious vacuity, but hating yourself more for envying it. You could never be like them. You have your friends but you could never be like them, exuding such casual indifference, engaging in such mindless conversation.
But you wish you could. You wish you could be one of those rich private school girls, beautiful and confident and so goddamn sure of your place in the world.
***
When one has something they really don't want to do, there are suddenly a thousand things that suddenly seem so much more appealing. For me, in this past week, it entailed sorting out a box of books and papers from my high school days that had been haphazardly shoved into my closet.
My mother usually bemoans the fact that I like to hoard. Somehow, I simply cannot bear to get rid of anything. "But what if one day..." I tell myself, as I pack away yet more boxes full of papers and trinkets that I doubt I will ever look at again. Still, sometimes hoarding is not such a bad thing, I think. At the very least, you have the opportunity to stumble across a multitude of goods you had forgotten about. In my case, it was the excerpt from above. Judging from the contents, it's from...2006? or thereabouts. I was thirteen, then.
A lot of things have changed since I wrote this. It's funny how, in some ways, I feel I haven't changed at all.
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