I knew every sound in that house. I knew which floorboards creaked as you walked up the stairs to wake me every morning. I knew the sound of the news, or the kettle whistle, as you silently started your day. I knew the exact time you would be home and how long it took to … Continue reading 630.
The first time you met, did you feel it? You sat there for hours craving more conversation than time would allow. Yet, it seemed endless and time submitted to your constraints. Every day, every week, you managed more. With every extra second, did you understand it? The first time you kissed, did you feel it? … Continue reading 901.
I thought I understood it. I thought it was black and white. I didn’t realize there were shades of grey, nor did I realize the grey area was where I wanted to exist. There was depth there; more substance than I thought imaginable. It was no longer one or the other, but the capacity for … Continue reading 807.
It was different. The conversations never ended, merely paused. There were no goodbyes; no definitive punctuation. It was natural. It was honest. My god, it was good. It made sense because it had never done so before. It was what I had never understood and, yet, I didn't doubt it. It wasn't something that was … Continue reading 707.
I remember every part of me hurt. It hurt to see her pictures. It hurt to smell the faintest note of her hairspray. It hurt to hear my dad crying on the couch—killed, actually. There wasn’t a bone in my body that didn’t ache. My heart began to weigh with such a heaviness, I wasn’t … Continue reading 212.
Help. I’ve been screaming for help and no one hears me. I pound on the window begging for someone to recognize me, to get me out of here, but all they see is her. They see her outside my personal prison, in the real world. They see her wearing my clothes even though they don’t … Continue reading 916. Fright.
There's a saying for it in French: amour fou. It's a passion that is irrevocably intoxicating; a fire that refuses to die. The kind of passion that ripples through your entire body. It blurs the lines—only lets you see what is directly in front of you, only lets you see what you want. Perhaps that's … Continue reading 314.
It's inexplicable. How something so hidden can annihilate you. You can bury it, or try to—yet, no matter how much you've grieved your loss of innocence or sanity, when the realization comes barreling back it will obliterate you. It will mangle the fabric draping your body. It will splinter the bone keeping you standing. It … Continue reading 547.
When the days are bad again, it's hard to remember how fond of the numbness I usually am. When I can feel everything to the point of suffocation. It's too much, and yet, everything all at once; to know I can still feel the pain. I lust after it sometimes, immerse myself in it even...and … Continue reading 430.