“if i could rewrite this, i would. i would rewrite the sound of my name on his breath. the lack of air that comes with falling face down. my first conversation with a cop. the way he laughed. you are a forest. and i am a fire. i have been burning since the day i was born. you have been surrounded by trees. you have never seen anything so goddamn bright. if i could, i would rewrite my anger. my cigarette smile. imagining my fist through doors. i would rewrite the anxiety that comes with authoritarian parenting. i know we are a product of our surroundings. i don’t want the aggression to define me. i didn’t want the last thing you heard me say to be “fuck you, goodbye.” years later and i cannot return to the bridges i have burned. and i’m sorry i was raised to be fire. but the thing about a fire is you cannot put it out unless you kill it. you can knock the breath out of me, but i will be burning until my very. last. one. this is me. i will always be growing. and i will fall in love with all of the rubble i have destroyed. all of the forests that have ignited my being. all of the forests that have stood in my way. at night, i dream about fireproof vests and you dream about midnight picnics as i light up besides her. everyone wants sunlight but no one wants the moon, until they have seen what the sun can do.”
— a diary entry i kept locked up in the floorboards (via achingchest)
