stifling my cries into my pillow
stifling my cries into my pillow
It’s weird being without you. Not having someone nearby. I still want to call you on my way home from school, or when I’m driving to the library. I want to stop by your work and get a drink that you draw a heart on. I want to be in your arms. I know I shouldn’t being saying this, given that I’m the one who ended it, but it still hurts. I’m hurting without you. But I had to. I needed it. For me. And I know you know that. But I still have to explain. You may see this or not, but I think this is more for me. A public diary entry. I tried to let go, but I’m still hanging on by a thread. I find myself checking my phone to see if you’ve texted or called. The comforting thing is that I have a feeling this isn’t the end. After we each work on ourselves, by ourselves, I think there’s a possibility. After we have gained experience without each other, then we can experience each other. There’s still things I want to do with you. Firsts that haven’t happened, that I want with you. Maybe this is unfair of me, but it’s how I feel. I’m going to try to let go. For both of us. Maybe it’ll work. Maybe not. But I feel like I should try so the both of us can move on. Then, in some years, we might meet up again. And I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I might welcome it. But that’s for then. Right now, I need me.
One ship drives east and another drives west
With the self-same winds that blow;
‘Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales
That tells them the way to go.
Like the winds of the sea are the winds of fate
As we voyage along through life;
'Tis the set of the soul
That decides its goal
And not the calm or the strife.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it’s mirth,
But has trouble enough of it’s own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
When your ex wants you back
“You are always enough.”
When I was younger, maybe 15 to 17, I was asked by people at church almost every Sunday if I had a boyfriend or they’d pester me about it by saying stuff like “behave around those boys” or “when you get a boy bring him so we can approve him.” It always made me want a guy they’d hate but as I got older I found that I was attracted to those types of guys for real. There were even a few girls. I’ve never had a real boyfriend, or even been kissed, and I don’t regret it. I feel like sometimes I project the bad-ass-bitch-who-fucks-who-she-wants energy, or I try to, but it’s a front. I know I’ll never get someone they like, and I’ll never be someone they’ll approve of. It’s just how it is.
You are powerful, awe-inspiring, effortlessly commanding respect and admiration
And at the end of the day, you are bundled up in my sweatshirt under the covers, blinking your sleepy eyes at me and reaching out half-asleep to wrap me in your arms
‘19 - 9 - 20
Maybe if I got into this werewolves, vampires, demons and angels, and generally supernatural trend, more people would read my stories. Because it seems like that’s what YA are eating up these days. And writing themselves. And also seems like, juat from reading some of the synopses, that they’re romanticizing abusive relationships, that sort of stupid age-old thing where girls go after the bad boys–but that doesn’t end well in real life. It ends with broken heart and maybe broken bones. (Goes for some lgbt relationships in stories too)
I may not want to write me a supernatural romance anytime soon, but everyone else can like what they want (I just wish people would like my stories, but i ant ask that when I don’t cross the aisle, can I). However, I really don’t like that girls are romanticizing bad guys. I don’t get it. Why do you want danger when you can have someone who genuinely loves you? Why don’t you want to dwell on that and write about it? Maybe it’s interesting to write about or whatever (I think it’s interesting and less usual to write about, you know, a healthy relationship where the couple fights the bad in the world together, not fight each other or do awful non-consensual things to each other) but when a lot of people are dwelling on it and putting it in a positive light, one has to wonder how far the line between reality and fiction is being blurred. Girls who eat this stuff up might see this dangerous, borderline abusive guy and want more of it in real life, want their own dangerous vampire or demon or whatever. But stay far away from someone like that, because if he hurts you, it’s not love. Even if he says he loves you. Leave that kind of relationship in fiction and find someone who would sacrifice himself for you instead of hurt you.