Humble mumbles

Some days are better than others.

[theslightestbright]

River

I’ll never stop searching for you in the soul of every person I meet.

You were the brightest light in the darkest of days.

I’ll always have you to thank for making me fearless,

no matter how briefly.

Thank you for letting me love you,

and for loving me back.

[theslightestbright]

[theslightestbright]

[theslightestbright]

Fine thanks, how’re you?

You’ve been doing okay and that’s great because when you’re not doing okay, you get used to missing the times when you were.

You guess you just haven’t been in this place in a long time and it’s like this feeling of never being able to catch your breath, like someone is sucking the last little bit of air before you can have it.

It’s the pain of looking at a close friend, a family member, and only seeing the cloud of hurt that they’ve carried around with them, only finding the strength to share their secret with you because it’s been almost a decade and they can’t bare the weight of it anymore.

It’s trying to forget that you’re not here anymore and that the water that took you away is burning our skin like ice, threatening to wash away any memory that you actually ever existed.

The ache of unwanted touches, boys who took injuries and intoxication as consent and not remembering until years later that there were things that happened to your own body then one day the levy broke and now sleep is the missing memory.

Misunderstandings, blame and cruelty all masqueraded by friends with the best intentions and you don’t see the flags, even after you’re covered in them. Stamps of red you can’t seem to take off and you wear them. Like badges of honour. Like you earned the mistreatment and it shows how good you are at swallowing your pride and suffering through their treatment of you.

It’s looking at a photo of someone who hurt you so badly, and still hating yourself for not being enough for them to stay, even though you always were enough and you know it, but you can’t accept it because why else would they leave? 

Why would they drive to pick you up when you were beaten in the street and had no one else to call? 

Why would they scream at you and tell you they were glad it happened? 

Why would they leave you to sit outside in the cold rain, bruised and broken, waiting for rescue that was two hours away? 

Why would they message you the next day and say “Cool. Glad you got home safe.” when it wasn’t and you did because your family were afraid and drove to get you but were disappointed that you let yourself get into that situation.

So you’ve been doing okay. That’s great to hear.