#journal except

[edithalicepoe]

I want to fuck and smoke and drink like I’m dying because it feels like I’m dying. It feels like the part of me required for commitment and love and healthy relationships is gone- broken, stolen, never existed. Like I’ll just keep braiding red flags together until I have a noose.

Journal, 11.7.18

[edithalicepoe]

I wonder if I’ll ever say ‘I Love You’ again without my lungs collapsing, my ribs breaking, blood dripping from my lips. I wonder how other people say it so easily, I remember it being such a dull part of the day. So mundane. So expected. I wonder if it will ever feel that way again. I wonder if it should.

Journal, 11.20.18