I never want you to be someone I used to know. I can't figure out if you're good or bad for me and I think that curiosity will hang over my head until I die. I don't mind. I don't want to forget your voice, or your laugh, or the way you never raise your voice. I want to make mountains out of the molehills that are your dorky quirks and I want to let them fill me up in the memory of now. 

frequently i am greeted with the phrase 'you'll have to speak up, i can't hear you'.
frequently i am told not repeating myself is rude, that saying 'nevermind, it doesn't matter' is equivalent to a slap in the face.
some people have small voices and being told 'speak up, i can't hear you' when you're already trying so hard to do exactly that, is a slap in the face.
i am quiet. i don't repeat myself.

you never looked at me like you wanted something from me. and i only see that in hindsight.

sometimes i wonder if chasing you away was a mistake.

you choose not to ask when i can't speak and that makes me sad. 

i am naive to think the males i spend time with are my friends. as soon as they realise i'm not going to fuck them they'll stop following me around. this is what i'm told and i'm offended. i'm obvious about not wanting people to touch me, i literally dodge any approaches. mostly what offends me though is that it seems these people don't believe my character is worthy of friendship.

i miss you and knowing how much more beautiful everyone in your life is than me hurts me in irrational ways. you deserve them and happiness but it's like a harsh reminder that i would have never stayed, that you were always a lot better than me, could always do a lot better than me. i'm ugly inside and out and my insecurity only amplifies it.

i'm so far from okay with it. i feel vulnerable and violated.

let's be honest

the closest you'll ever get to knowing me is knowing i'm lying.

like my legs were broken you know? at first i didn't move - just spent days crying in bed, then slowly i was encouraged to leave my room, to put pressure on my fractures and it hurt more than anything i've experienced and now it's been eight months and those bones never healed. i walk on them yes but they will never be the same. i function without you but it's a struggle and it hurts and everything is a butt tonne harder.

Six months and I miss every. fucking. thing.

Deep wounds find frightful ways of masking their intensity. The smallest of sights fracture the lie. These remnants, they twist and ache, they weep as they look upon the abyss, the depth of this perplexing absence of everything, of anything. Breathe deep, swallow hard, keep moving.