It’s like we brush shoulders. The contact is brief, slighted and swiped before the mind makes anything memorable out of it. Our lives collide on angles, sweeping and diving across one another but never completely meeting.  

Suppose I found someone who makes me strive to be a better person. Someone who cheers me up when I’m down. Someone who engages me in delectable conversation. Someone who is extremely physically attractive. Someone who makes me feel right. Someone who I relate to. But suppose that person doesn’t want me around. Consequently, I am made to feel worthless and insecure. Despite everything, I want to believe your precious words because without them these clouds dangle and drag me down. The silence speaks for itself, so am I to believe that none of it is true anymore?

I want to achieve greatness. I want to succeed. It is a product of the perfectionist within me, but I need to become better and I want to be improved. I want to find myself as no longer nothing.

I want to slip apart from these careening veins and swing from spools of linen and asphyxiation.

We became parallel lines. Once, we met and intertwined, so aligned...and eventually and subtly we divided in distancing lines remaining on the same plane but never colliding or combining again, merely dancing in the atmosphere that always seems to linger after something significant ends.

You don't notice.

It is hardest to be happy for someone you love, while they are happy with someone else and without you.

I was never good enough.

I know you want this, this fair weather friendship. So I’ll let you have it. I won’t drop to my knees to save you. I’m done. I won’t let you destroy me.

I’m awfully awkward and nowhere near eloquent. I’m weird and not so subtle. I dive in too quickly and drown in the recess of air. I’ll push you away when you’ve become too close, and I’ll bury emotions beneath the sand. Regardless, you won’t find another person quite like me. I will defend, protect, and provide for you until my limbs let out and collapse. I’d never lie to save myself, or at all. When your spirit has crashed, I’ll be there to scoop you up, and mend your soul. I extend myself with bruised wrists, prepared to take on everything. I’ll do my best to make you smile. I’ll go crazy with you and create amazing memories. I try my best in everything I do. Is it so wrong?

Drowning in the abscess of beauty. His voice with its swollen, melodic drone, lulls me into a subtle surrender. The ordeal is almost over. I can surpass the pain, if only for a while. Please remind me, how the pieces fall together when internally pulled apart.

Playing nice, pretending not to feel. Though it hurts when you went away, I stay a while and mind my own business.

Somewhere over the rainbow. Behind the trees, inside the city. Behind the dumpster, inside the alleyway. Cries, endless cries. Soft, pebble echoes. Lingering.

You weren't supposed to get under my skin.

I miss you tremendously.

More than I should. More than I would ever wish to, more than what is proper, more than I can withstand.

There’s a noose around my neck and if I could vomit thought, I would drown in the recesses of ideas and convoluted nonsense, metaphors for restless sadness and epitomes of heartache.

But I was never breathing, always choking, inhaling stale oxygen. Stepping on the overpass, verging upon impact with the earth floor.

I have to find a way to let this go. I can’t let this continue to kill me. But how can I overcome it when I can’t get closure?

I don't feel numb at all. I feel dead. Hollow. Defeated as fuck and crushed. And I still care. I care to the tiniest bits of existence. I care and it doesn't fucking matter. I'm so naive and overly sensitive and fragile. It's stupid.

As a child, I frequently had asthma attacks, sending me to the hospital. I would cry out, whimpering as I did, “My heart hurts.” I feel a heavy twisting amongst my heartstrings that is weighing me down, gutting me continuously. My heart hurts, but it isn’t asthma. My heart hurts and it's because of you.

Blend in with the wall. It is better this way. Words formed from her lips can’t slice skin and deeds done by him will not reach here. It is better to be unseen. Stitched lips leave remarks concealed and skin healed.  

Never let anyone get close: Advice to myself that I have failed to follow. The knife slices me every time I fail to follow this, and find myself alone, adorning stitches born from wretched emptiness. Vulnerability is scary. Terrifying. Every time I allow a person to enter my world and become a piece of my life, I am returned with abrasions and afflictions.  With attachment follows abandonment and that is something I should never forget. Nothing lasts. Those who can hurt you, inevitably will. I foolishly allowed myself to believe that maybe I was worth a small while. Foolish indeed, because everyone leaves.

If I meant anything to you, then you wouldn’t allow the events to turn this way. You wouldn’t let me slip away. You would wonder, try to reach me, or show a ounce of concern. But you don’t. Because I never meant anything. Everything ends, everyone leaves. I was foolish to believe it could be any other way. I am nothing.

Ideas, or at least, pieces of ideas, swim inside my mind. Everything is so disorganized and out of reach. I’ve been pulling at figments of yesterday for ages now it seems, but the world around me is so fragile and grains of life fall through my hands like sand. The sea crashes against my memories, submerging me in tangles of what should have been.