We were desperate. Luck had run out for so long we weren’t sure if we had ever even been lucky at all or if we were just too young to understand our misfortune. Window pane hearts and chalkboard minds. If we noticed the scabs on our knees or the bruises on our shins we never showed it. We worried about the little things and pretended the big ones didn’t exist and we never stopped pretending until we were drowning in our uncertainty. We scribbled long lists on the back of receipts and stuck post it notes in the corners of our minds and at the top of the fridge because as long as we appeared organized and in control we could lie to ourselves that we were. We made excellent liars. Coffee with two sugars and two creams as if we still noticed the taste and not because we relied on the caffeine to push through the eight hours we spent wide awake and wondering about why everything felt so temporary and insincere. Happy and whole on the outside to hide the complacency within. We played our parts like we were supposed to, making the malaise inside feel more familiar than ever. We all felt the same but never voiced it and so we stayed isolated in our unhappiness. As if we were never aware of the possibility that anyone could ever relate to us. As I said, we were desperate. And as it turns out, angst will win out over that desperation. Every time.
especiallypeaches (via especiallypeaches)
