whoever deity responsible for this world's sense of time is must be condemned. how cruel must they be to make human days feel longer when they're sad and shorter when they're happy?
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@waningliebling
whoever deity responsible for this world's sense of time is must be condemned. how cruel must they be to make human days feel longer when they're sad and shorter when they're happy?
it was never love that destroyed me, but rather the silence that came after
"It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end."
turns out feeling left behind is the only ending no one bothers to write about. it's a skill you master last before giving up on life.
it's always the terrible, nerve-wracking, utterly sickening feeling of alienation once you realize how dumb you've become after doing nothing but get by your days, and the shocking realization that everyone but you seems to have figured themselves out by now. oh but i used to be so smart! then how come it's so easy to belittle you now? how come you can't even memorize and intellectualize everything the way you used to in your prime?
you shake your head despite feeling like you already know the answer. all eyes, ears out. you crave the validation of your own damnation.
the silence that follows isn’t peace. it’s war—quiet, intimate, chest-wrenchingly disguised as understanding.
it had none of the warmth of a dream realized, nor the relief of a battle won.
like all temporary things, this thing required constant, brutal maintenance.
why blame the matchstick for the arsonist's intent?
if i stay, i’ll learn how to look at the world like you do.
as it turns out, i was never the girl running away from the monster. i am the one who carried him on my back.
there was a glitch in the reel of my memory—a stutter in the film where the screaming starts and ends.
my bragging right is that you didn’t ruin me. you just refined the ruin that was already there.
you keep calling it healing, but all I see is how well you’ve learned to bleed quietly
it was never love that destroyed me, but rather the silence that came after
grief is such a silly little wormhole.
the longer you try to run away from it, the deeper it will sink deep into your nerves. soon enough you'll realize you have to stop running, or else the larvae in your drinking water would turn into flies, and the flies in your dining and kitchen area would triple in number.
you need to sit with it, you need to stay and appease it until the dry clothes are folded back into your respective closet and the dirty clothes in your laundry basket are basking in the sun that peeks through your balcony.
what a silly little wormhole grief is, and yet you have to go with its flow all the while figuring your way out.
i used to think loneliness was absence, then i met you and learned it had a face