Whisper sweet nothings into the night’s listening ear. Tell it your secrets. It’ll listen, and never judge, and continue to hold you as close as ever.
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Whisper sweet nothings into the night’s listening ear. Tell it your secrets. It’ll listen, and never judge, and continue to hold you as close as ever.
I can’t fit. I can’t find the right door to pass through. The sunlight is rapidly fading. Snow is falling all around me and all I can think about when I look at the flakes is how they might look like the ashes after my everything burns to nothing.
Wolves are circling. Closing in. I can hear their howling signals.
I’m running out of time.
The gentle parts came back to me today.
These vagabonds never stay for long.
Some days I feel as though the scattered and missing pieces have mostly come together and then I’m really here, complete with all my fears, and it’s the closest to whole I can get.
I’ve been out in the world and here at home and surely annoying everyone even as my heart dissolves into hot steam and I still question everything and I still need and I still need things I can’t say and I’ve been trying to write but I’m still alive anyway and the other side feels so strangely home today like a black hearth that’s still just warm enough that I can’t feel any chill but I survived one more day and I’m alive.
I had a little flash of clarity a moment ago.
My mind wandered to the future and tried to think about 2027. It’s still a black hole, like it doesn’t exist. I feel myself pulled towards that reality, or rather, lack of reality, still. However, I’ve noticed that it:
I realized today that I can disappear in small increments.
Instead of doing it all at once in one big, difficult, dramatic exit, I can instead just die quality, one piece at a time.
Self-erasure will be my salvation.
Less and less of me, quietly disappearing, retreating into hiding.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner, especially once I realized that the more I retreat, the more I am accepted — further proof I don’t belong in this time.
I don’t feel right somehow. Like I’ve been partially scattered to four winds. Teetering on a tightrope between panic and apathy. Heart hiding in different corners. Torn beliefs. Feet on shaky ground, or maybe more like feet used to the rocking of the sea from the deck of a ship but when they step onto land the unmoving earth feels like it could never feel safe, and comfortable, and home.