Top 3 things people love insisting they don't have despite it being impossible
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@evergreen125
Top 3 things people love insisting they don't have despite it being impossible
Pronouns
An accent
Bias
One of the fourth graders I work with asked me who my favorite harry potter character was and I had to prevent myself from saying hornkus binglefuck (I settled for Remus)
To the boy I went to elementary school with who killed himself:
I couldn't remember how to spell your name, so I checked our 4th grade yearbook. Our faces were side by side, your hair combed nicely, your smile uneven yet undeniably charming. I wore a flannel shirt, the first one I ever bought, the year dresses started feeling foreign. We grinned like nothing bad had ever happened to us, because it hadn't. Just wait a few years, I thought. A few more years and we'll forget how to smile like that. The truth is, I always wondered what became of you after we finished fifth grade and were whisked away to different middle schools. I thought, at times, that you must be doing well: athletic and kind with beautiful eyes (you were one of the boys I decided to have a crush on before I realized that being gay was an option), I couldn't see why you wouldn't be. Looking back, I'm sure people thought the same about me. But life marches on and things happen, bad things, the kind that leave you awake in the wee hours, cleaning blood out of the carpet and writing suicide notes. After my mom told me you were gone, I sat on the floor of the shower, a familiar numbness filling my chest. I kept thinking the same thing: I wish I knew you, really knew you. I wish I could tell you that things would get better. I would say that even I didn't believe it every day, that it still hurts sometimes, but there's so much left to live for. There are sunrises to watch and hikes to go on and dogs to pet and diplomas to receive. There's making your mom proud and making your younger sibling smile. I would say that you're 18 and you still have so much ahead of you. I would say that I love you and I want you to stay, because even though I don't know you anymore, I know that you always had a big heart, big like mine. Maybe that's why we hurt the most: We try to carry everyone else's burden like it's our own. Most of all, I would tell you that it's not a sin to be sad. You're not wrong for struggling. You're only wrong for doing it alone. As of April 25, 2026, I've been clean for three years, and every day of it has been precious, even the ones where I wished I'd been brave enough (that's what I called it then) to finish the job. I used to feel jealous of the people who went through with it. Now I just feel sad, and I miss you. I miss your lopsided smile. I miss watching you attempt a bumbling line dance with my best friend in PE. I miss how kind you were to your sister, kind to me, kind to everyone, even the boy that hid under the teacher's easel in kindergarten and wouldn't come out. I miss the version of you that could have, would have, been. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, and I know I'm not the only one. I was saved once. I wish I could have returned the favor.
If nobody got me I know the public library got me
reject jkr canon embrace hornkus binglefuck
Sometimes I wish I was raised catholic so I could explain why I feel guilty for existing
Me trying to explain that I like mlm media in a "woah it's fascinating how toxic masculinity shapes the queer experience" way and not an "i like hot guys" way
When I tell you I’m done, you pretend to be surprised. I pretend to stand my ground, pretend that you don’t make me question myself, my sanity, whether or not it's really all my fault.
Afterwards, I cry on the sidewalk, bent over with nausea as the knot of my anguish comes undone. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and laugh like the lunatic you think I am. My chest feels lighter and I pretend I know what to do with this freedom.
It's been two weeks now and I see you at prom. Your dress is beautiful and I want to tell you, but I can’t meet your eyes. I reach for my friend in the crowd, let his smile remind me of all the reasons why I left. I hold his gaze and pretend I don’t miss you.
In a month, we graduate and I'll move to Chicago. I’ll wear my leather jacket on the train and walk until my feet ache. I’ll leave this town like the wind off Lake Michigan, like a tornado, like a bitch. I'll leave and pretend it doesn't kill me, because despite everything that happened, I know you would want me to live. I want you to live too. I pretend not to care that we won't do it together.
Brokeback Mountain (2005) | Heated Rivalry (2025-)
My ex-best friend PRd in a track race today and it hurts that I can't text to say good job even though I chose this.
Thank you Noah Kahan for releasing your new album the week before my 4-year-long friendship finally collapsed. I'm riding the emotional rollercoaster with my sunglasses on and sick tunes in my earbuds.
The thing that hurts the most about losing the friends of my youth is that, even as the years pass and their presence in my life becomes distant, I will remember. I'll paint something and think about the mural my childhood best friend and I splashed across the walls of her closet, acrylic paint and bad jokes and The Killers playing in the background. I'll wonder whether my hand print is still on the closet door. Maybe she painted over it, but you can't paint over the eight years we were in each other's orbit. Winter will arrive in Chicago and I'll put on my favorite hat, a quiet reminder that, somewhere, the boy who saved my life has a matching one. I'll wonder what he did with it when we stopped talking. Is it in a box, under his bed, languishing at the bottom of a Good Will bargain bin? When I press my blazer for a job interview or zip up my favorite jumpsuit, I'll think of all the pre-dance dinners where my high school best friend and I sat side by side, lost in conversation. I'll wonder if she kept the photo booth strips. I'll still resent her sometimes for the way things ended, but not enough to throw them out. What's past is past, but it follows us. They're gone, but I'll think about them until I die.
I have four aunts. One of them used to be a kindergarten teacher. One of them loves wine. One of them has a dog named Glenjamin. One of them is a meth addict. I think I've collected the whole set.
Sometimes my mom implies that I didn't show any signs of mental illness until middle school and I have to remind her that she sent me to a therapist at age 8 because I was convinced I was dying of rabies