ven ⋆˚

i don't want any tomorrows, i don't want it to arrive. im sick of it—it's just yesterday with a different name. i can't even meet it halfway, so can i beg for it to stop coming?

i kept asking, "what did i do to make you feel sick to your stomach?" you didn't utter any word. instead, you pulled me back to the old days—suddenly i'm a kid again asking my mother what i had done wrong to be punished by this loud silence.

i wanted to be known past how i perceived myself. i wanted someone to look at me when i am not looking, and maybe remember the small, silly things i say, to hold onto them as if they matter—as if i matter. i wanted someone to take my hand, so i'd stop swaying it when i walk. someone who'll tuck my hair behind my ears not to fix it, but to see me—as if im something worth looking at. i wanted to live in someone's mind, like a song that lingers at the back of their head. and when i am not around, they'll notice my absence and be sick of it; it'll settle onto them and they'll desperately look for me.

why do we always believe we can tame someone's beast inside, when we can't even tame our own?

why do i keep looking back? i'm still stuck in the pit, still waiting for that someone who can lift me up even if they're the one who brought me here.

why does this empty feeling never go away? i don't know how to comfort myself anymore.

we were so different. you ran your fingers underneath my shirt while mine ran through your hair. of course we won't last.