2 weeks ago
reblogged from imleavingyoumylegacy
I was anti-everything and everyone. I didn’t want people around me. This aversion was not some big crippling anxiety; merely a mature recognition of my own psychological vulnerability and my lack of suitability as a companion. Thoughts jostled for space in my crowded brain as I struggled to give them some order which might serve to motivate my listless life.
But this first clumsy attempt showed her that the imagination itself was a source of secrets: once she had begun a story, no one could be told. Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know. Even writing out the she saids, the and thens, made her wince, and she felt foolish, appearing to know about the emotions of an imaginary being. Self-exposure was inevitable the moment she described a character’s weakness; the reader was bound to speculate that she was describing herself. What other authority could she have?
I have no idea how he knows when I need him. We can go weeks without speaking. And then, when my blue moods threaten to turn black, he will show up and tell me my moods are azure, indigo, cerulean, cobalt, periwinkle. And suddenly, the blue will not seem so dark, more like the color of a noon-bright sky. He brings the sun.
This possibility was not flattering to me; it was terrifying. There were other things a guy could think I was, and he wouldn’t be entirely wrong - nice, or loyal, or maybe interesting. Not that I was always any of those things, but in certain situations, it was conceivable. But to be seen as pretty was to be fundamentally misunderstood. First of all, I wasn’t pretty, and on top of that I didn’t take care of myself like a pretty girl did; I wasn’t even one of the unpretty girls who passes as pretty through effort and association. If a guy believed my value to lie in my looks, it meant either that he’d somehow been mislead and would eventually be disappointed, or that he had very low standards.
Bubble gum angels swooped down from top margins or scraped their wings between teeming paragraphs, maidens with golden hair dripped sea blue tears into the books spine, grape-colored whales spouted blood around a newspaper item (pasted in) listing arrivals to the endangered species list. Six hatchlings cried from shattered shells near an entry made on Easter. She had filled the pages with a profusion of colors and curlicues, candyland ladders and striped shamrocks.
when you fall as fast and as far as i did, you are no longer yourself. you are blinded by your heart. you breathe him and he’s all you see when you wake up and lay your head down. then one day, he’s gone. the sky crashes down upon you and you change again. you tun to the phone every time it rings, expecting him to be there, to tell you everything is going to be alright and that things can be the same as they used to. you and him, together, forever. but only a dial tone replies to your pleas. oh sure… i’ll get over you… i’ll live again. but every time i see you, the memories of all the wonderful times we spent together flash through my head and a little piece of me dies.
it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, and i miss your smile and i miss your face, ‘cause you haven’t been around my place. it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, and i miss the smell of your skin and your hair, and the way you genuinely care for me.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, fondness makes the absence longer.
