The hardest part for me isn’t the lies; or even that you used me.
It’s the fact that I matter so little to you, that you’d just let me disappear.
Forget my voice.
I really don’t know what to tell you.
I know I love her because I have words for everything else and this doesn’t fall into those categories. Sort of like pouring all my thoughts through a sieve and love is the only one that catches her.
BE A SADIST,
no matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
This song totally gets me.
Sometimes even breathing hurts, like the air is full of tiny particles of glass that scratch my throat with each inhale.
Or maybe it’s just existing that’s become too much. This world is a watercolor painted in shades of grey, a patchwork quilt of “I think I fucked up again.”
It’s almost like being a rock too close to the shore, constantly being bombarded with waves. As soon as you think they’ve stopped, and you start to dry off in the sun - thinking your little rock-thoughts and living your little rock-life - another wave hits you.
I guess this is what you call ‘coping’