Never ignore someone who loves you and cares about you. ‘Cause one day you may realize you lost the moon while counting stars.
You are enough. You are so enough, it is unbelievable how enough you are.
I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’
You’d destroy me, and I’d let you.
Tonight I listened to a voicemail you left me three months ago.
In it, you told me to go fuck myself.
I still remember that night.
I still remember those words rolling off your tongue so gracefully.
I remember wondering how someone so beautiful could be so cruel.
Two months ago I called you at three A.M.
I expected you to ignore it, or to send me to voicemail;
those were two of the things you were best at.
You answered and I felt my heart begin to race;
you probably thought it was because I missed you,
but truthfully it was because I didn’t expect you to answer,
and because I really had to pee.
I asked you how you were and you sat there quietly and confused.
It was like you forgot that I existed and that I was once a part of your life.
You told me “fine” and I smiled.
That was the last conversation we had.
I made sure to let go of you, and every negative word that was said, in a peaceful way.
Fast forward two months, and I still wonder how you are.
I still wonder how your dog is and if you’ve seen any good movies lately.
If you ever heard me say this, you’d probably blush like you used to whenever I said something sweet.
You’d probably think I think these things because I still love you, that I still want you.
But that is not the case.
You see, six months ago I was jumping through hoops to please you.
To make sure that you were happy before myself.
To make sure that I was the one causing your happiness.
But it is not six months ago.
It is now.
And now I simply remember you as a person I gave my soul to.
A person I told secrets to at 4am and fucked to feel a sense of closeness.
A person I loved, yes.
But it is not six months ago.
It is now, and now I miss you.
I miss the way you called randomly just to ask how my day was.
I miss the way you seemed to care, even if you didn’t.
I miss the friendship and the secrets and the stories.
And maybe one day things will be different.
Maybe you’ll call me on a Tuesday afternoon and ask how my day was.
These are the things I think about before my eyes slowly close and I am finally rewarded with sleep.
But for right now?
Go fuck yourself.
It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.
My mother warned me about cigarettes that could cause cancer
But she never told me that self-hatred can grow faster than any tumour ever could
My father warned me that I should never stop thinking
But he never told me that overthinking would kill my happiness
My sister warned me about other people who might make hurtful comments about me
But she never told me that instead of hearing someone else’s voice, I’d hear my own
My brother warned me about drugs in baggies sold on the street,
But he never told me about the ones that people put in your glass when you’re not looking
My grandmother warned me about the devil with his tail and red horns
But she never told me about his angelic smile and dark, ocean blue eyes
My grandfather warned me about booze that could kill
But he never told me that if you drink enough alcohol, it tastes like love
My cousin warned me that I should love my virginity to a guy I love
But she never told me he should love me, too
My aunt warned me that if I kept eating that much, I might vomit
But she never told me that even without eating anything, you can hang over the toilet and puke
My baby sitter warned me that a boy could break my heart
But she never told me that if I made him mad, he’d also break my arm and nose
My teacher warned me about dangerous men with knives that could cut my throat
But she never told me that I didn’t need these men to cut my skin
They all warned me that I shouldn’t do dangerous things that could kill me
But I never had the chance to ask them if slitting both of my wrists vertically
And taking thirty-eight aspirins, was one of these dangerous things
I really do hate that I consider you to be this perfect person. you don’t deserve that at all. but no matter what, I always think so highly of you. even when you’re the worst
Page 1 of 240