Hope wins every time the sun peaks over the horizon after a long dark night, it softens the day and baths the ground, it warms the air and we breath easier and maybe our souls uncurl a little from that protective crouch we've grown used to, maybe we let our limbs loosen, maybe we let hope sink into our skin, maybe we let it melt our misery from within.
When I think of you I think of red, the red of our kitchen walls, the red that you always chose to colour your lips with or wear with your clothes. I think of my red blood rushing past my ears, I think of the sound it made.
The bad news is that it sometimes feels never ending and apathy whispers into your ear that this numbness is peaceful and to just sink into it's depths.
The good news is that apathy is a cold filthy liar. They want you to drowned, but they don't know that happiness is always around the corner, and it will yank you out of the dark water. I swear one day you will laugh so hard your sides start splitting and the pain will leak out of you. I swear you will sing and dance and feel something other than heavy numbness, the sunrise is golden and it burns, it heats up your heart until you feel like there's something to live for and it's just on the horizon. Wait for it. Please.
Sometimes people drift so far away. Friendships that used to be sleep overs and chasing each other around the park after school, are now liking each others posts every once in awhile. Friendships that felt more like a sisterhood now feel like barely a friend of a friend from work you once knew, memories of us are so much sweeter than this distant present us. We've turned tepid and bland. We've faded.
The night won't last forever. Wait for the sunrise.
the biggest lesson im learning is that nothing is as extreme or as permanent as our emotions convince us they are. nothing is certain and things are always fluctuating and there are always exceptions and there are always mistakes. there is always pain and there is always love. everything is a delicate touch away from changing
Screw it , I'm going to write this book.
When I was little I was collecting all my future pains and putting them in a neat little line, each one climbing up the ladder of my spine. Because what is time, what does it matter when I could see the ending before I had even begun. It was like the Me that would live through broken glass and kicked in doors felt her heart beating so loudly she sent the sound back through time, and it found me in my room when everything was good. This organ we prescribe love to felt so much fear it ran back to a time before the palpitations.
I don't know where you are exactly, but I know you're looking at your phone, I know you're probably alone. So am I. It's nearly 10pm and I've been scrolling through Instagram reels all day, I haven't eaten or gotten up. But I've cried over people singing in the park to passers by, one women lost her mother and felt comfort in the songs. I've cried to family reunions and mother's singing lullabys to their babies, Ive felt this weight of grief for the things I want to experience, which is to not be so alone. But I still lay here day after day, I still like videos about things I hope to do someday. I'm not okay but I will be one day.
Excerpt from wip Dead above