StarryStarrySky7267

I have always been so impatient in April, the summer so close I could taste it but still too far away. yet I am beginning to miss the feeling of being on the cusp of something, when the humidity that starts to close in promises bright summer afternoons lying on the grass. and now I am stuck in the perpetuity of afternoon storms and all I can see ahead is a tornado with no sign of a shelter in sight.

as the fairgrounds music died I found myself still standing by the merry-go-round, its lights so blinding I believed I was dreaming. for one second I thought I might have been a child again. I am no longer the little girl who gets lost in a park - and yet that same little girl still thinks it's the best day of her life even with getting lost and falling down and having a scraped knee. now I clutched the stuffed bear that I so easily won, realizing that I still couldn't replicate the same feeling even with the most coveted prize in my hand.

the ship continues to sail while I send out morse codes, wondering if waving my flags is easier but at the same time believing it is too late to make the switch. I have never been known to jump ships, and at this point I am not sure if that tendency is saving my life or not.

and there is no other ending to this: me tip-toeing far enough into your world but not too far so I will not startle you. we orbit each other, the paths we follow never crossing and yet I will always see you in my periphery.

I look back on days with lilac skies and remind myself to start walking along the bike path next to the river again. the sun and the stars don't slow down as they move across the sky and neither does the river, but I think I have finally stopped running.

knowing me I would have been doomed from the moment you shared a secret with me, no matter how detrimental those words could be. I held on to the trust you had for me and no other feelings - in the end my eyes would betray me with the way I tracked you across every room we existed in, your secret still intact in my heart while my own became out in the open. and funnily enough, I will still only blame myself for this outcome.

the longer I stand on this side of the bridge the more my heart seems to atrophy. on the other side the sun is so bright that it almost hurts to look - it is hard to miss what I have never had, I think, and yet I can't help but notice how empty I have become, how often I repeat the same nonchalant and indifferent stories about the simplicity of being stationary.

and years later I would still remember that rain-splattered afternoon. they always say smell is our oldest sense and yet, it would be the acidic taste of regret that stayed with me. my coffee grew colder and so did my heart. I can't tell if the words I still hear in my head are your apologies or mine.

I learned once that sometimes using a second language becomes a coping mechanism, for words that feel too heavy in my own mother tongue. and yet with you there isn't a language that is far removed enough that allows me to separate myself from the truth. sometimes I think I overuse therapy-speak so I can look at myself in third-person, intellectualize my hurt and tell you that I am over everything.

people come and go on the stage and I remain sitting. sometimes I feel I have been my own understudy my whole life, watching everything unfold in front of me and yet when it is my cue to enter the stage, I do not move. I rehearse my script over and over, and there only ever seems to be one ending: me bowing out, holding on to a bouquet meant for you that you have no room for.

it’s one of those nights when I can hear my own pulse and feel the heat of the streetlights, and despite being surrounded by living, breathing, people, I feel as though Life has left me idly by. And I wish so much that it would r a i n so that I could hide my tears in the downpour…

There's a funeral today. I'm still undecided If I should use present or past tense. The eulogy is full of lies. What place could be better for you than here with me? How do we know that the streets in the city of gold aren't paved in pyrite? I'm not supposed to look back, but it feels like I no longer have anything to look forward to. You only meant to hurt yourself. But I guess you couldn't predict how badly this paper would cut.

The little ones ran left, right, left, right and never quite hitting the walls always stopping just so Following them around with my eyes only and my breath on hold as I wait for the inevitable Or Maybe I should stop them? From running? But they are having fun they don't understand until they hit the wall the pain will be a foreign concept to them stopping won't make sense Or will it? 07.04.2024

if you're under the weather does it mean that if you look up you will see reversed skies and gray endless clouds (but i looked it up and it doesn't mean that at all it has to do with sailors and decks both of which i am not very interested) recently i've been trying to pin down the reasons of my feelings in minute detail sometimes it's past trauma, sometimes something that runs in the family and lacks a proper diagnosis and then sometimes, it lashes out without reason it has nothing to do with repressed desires or the subconsciousness, it's more of a blip in brain chemicals, in hormone shifts or maybe it's the moon but then language and reasoning fail me as i fall into a wet puddle, pressing my hands down where the sadness accumulates that makes my stomach ache and then i think of the future, stretching ahead, not knowing what fortunes and ills it will bring me and i'm not terrified, i'm just a puddle waiting to reconstruct into human form

I doubt I can take this much longer. Guess it's time to learn which is stronger; My desire for a place all my own Or this fear that I'll die all alone. Cause the Jury is out, but executioner’s in And he's happy to blame you for every sin There is no defense, your evidence is fake The witch hunt will end as you burn at the mistake. I can't find happy, let alone ever after When plagued by the sound of your incessant laughter. Your accusations pale with each new offense Made just to impress her at my expense. So here lies our friendship, Aged 29, With her claws in your back And your knives in mine.

I'm not here. No longer in the present. Where her words like wasps surround me. My mind whirs back to a past effervescent where her laughter was enough to blind me. I fell hopelessly in love with the flower girl as she laced lilies into my clothes. She scattered asters with every twirl and tinted my glasses in rose. I'm not there. I'm dreaming of what's ahead. A future, but yet a prototype. My mind paints us in a shared home, a shared bed where our dreams look strangely like pipes. I fell dangerously out of grace with my love, hitting every edge on my way down. Happy to see you watch me from above, Cause at least it meant you were around. I'm nowhere. Just glorified detritus floating to time's effluent whim. My mind escapes to the waters of the Cocytus Where my heart has begun to swim.

The eyes are carved from cruelty set in platinum; I kneel before their blinding light. I ask him if his mercy has its limits: he is reticent. The puddle pools about me, flashing crimson in the chorus of a dimming sea, the waning of an era forged in platinum; I kneel and I am overcome by lustre's spite. He's vesicant.