I suck at keeping conversations going

my emptiness makes me want to write so many things.

Luckily I remember that when I make mistakes or say shitty things, I'll always end up alone by the end of the day because who in fact wants to talk to a dumb asshole.

There are somethings you need to say. You need to learn to say "I can't" "I don't want to" "it hurts". You need to be able to breathe this out and stop from going any further. It's too much, can we slow down? You think you tell your emotions these things, you think you're trying, but it's a lonely battle and you need to fight. I just want to float on the surface of water face first, and watch all my bad emotions sizzle out and sink down to the bottom.

"A bright half and a dark half. Just like me..."

I'm always getting back up on my feet, no matter how hard I get pushed down.

"I'll never look back again."

"I'll carefully live 'this moment.'"

I hate feeling guilty. Next time if I say or do something wrong, shoot me before it gets bad because this - God, this is torture.

How do I try harder

“I am going to tell you a secret. Everything is about wanting. Everything. Things happen because of people wanting. Watch closely, and you’ll see what I mean.”

"I'm sure, someday..
"Someday, you'll tell me everything right?"
"about the sad things,"
"painful things,"
"happy things..."
"everything."

I can’t stop thinking. There are too little words in that sentence but the spaces are filled with too many emotions. How I miss you so - or are these whispers in the corners of my mind fake? What am I doing. What am I. What am I actually thinking. If I have all these thoughts, does it still make me lonely? I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy.

Keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

it started again and I don't know what to do - I couldn't (can't) breathe and I couldn't stop thinking and my head was spinning. I had to hide so that no one could see me in the state I was. I was completely alone and I hated it, so much. Why. Am I a bad person? Do I really deserve this? I can't say anything and I need - I need you to listen. I need somebody to listen otherwise I'll crack, I need to let it out and know that somebody cares. It made me wonder if anybody would fight for me. Somebody that could love me and fix me.

"People have been through worst." This is my worst. It might get better but you have to know, this is my worst - not yours or his or hers but mine. Today... was not my day.

It will get better

Secrets carry baggage. Scars carry even more, but I hope being honest doesn't hurt me in the end. There is no time for regrets. There's only time to learn by your mistakes.

"Please don't expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand."

You know when you're feeling angry and sad and your chest itches and try to scratch it but it only gets worse once you realise it's all in your head. You get all these bad thoughts and you just want to let go and tell some one you're dying on the inside. You want to scream "Fuck you!" and "I can't do this anymore" but you care too much about everyone around you and - and you don't want to spoil their day with your shitty thoughts. What do you do? What happens then?

I tell you all of my favourite things. But all you hear is noise.

I've been meaning to change my url but changing what I created when I was a child makes me want leave it. This blog has been with me for a long time.

She hid her edges and the rough corners of her mind from him. Even if he was broken, so familiar with the feeling - she felt as if she was sinning from hiding something he understood.

His eyes flickered from one place to another. Always. His endless dark eyes (brown in the light, but grows dark when he’s forgotten what here felt like) His touch of words so soft in the air that he would be able to stand near a frightened deer, and whisper in it’s ear. You would have loved the sound, it would caress the crevices of your mind, the corners of your lips, the goosebumps on your arms -

She shook her head.

His tall form was always hunched, (there’s a hole inside of his chest and the edges are slowly deteriorating and love is caged in the place of his heart and his mind has been crushed into pieces - It’s been dark in here far too long) and you wonder what has made him seem so fragile there and then, what has locked him in place by invisible hands around his lungs and scorching words that burned what used to be there (don’t worry, he’s not empty yet.)

His past has taken away the courage from his shinobi uniform and the strength from the back of his tongue dissolved into nothingness. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry, he says over and over and it becomes a broken record in the background. 

How to smooth over the frown lines and the heal his chapped lips, oh - how she wished she could offer more than what her small hands can reach for because they always seem to stop. Not in the beginning or the end. Somewhere along the lines ofI’ll try and I can’t.

One day, he won’t need to worry about the poison ivy and thorns in his pathway. One day, he will be able to breathe despite the blisters and bruises. One day, she will give her corners and edges because healing makes things sweeter and real.

Don’t worry, she said. I won’t let go.