SADNESS ISN’T REALLY A FEELING. it is a home ; it is a sliding door that keeps you trapped inside, a couch with no stains, a winding creak coming from a part of the house you’ll never be able to access ( sadness was every act of self - exile that she has stuffed away ). she wonders if the sea has ever known sadness. perhaps when seashells are ripped from it, the seeds of beauty left in disarray upon shores. has the sky ever felt sadness? she is a home. she is a sliding door. she tries to force it shut, but she has already burst : jessica stanley doesn’t cry glitter and pink and girlhood. there are only tears.
❝ SHIT. ❞ she half - gags on this overflow ( i am a home. i am a sliding door. ). his fingertips are desperate, shaking, nails scratching against her cheek, punishment for the brutality. DOES A LAKE KNOW IT IS LOSING WATER? DOES THE SKY KNOW ALL ITS STARS ARE DYING? ❝ why the fuck would you say something like that? ❞
' you're doing great, okay ? I mean it. ' @searelle. accepting.
