meris

》random: my bday is in july, i write prose that reads like poetry, i wear a ton of hot pink which is also my favourite color, i know how to iceskate, i make jewellery and i have an unhealthy obsession with juicy couture stuff

i can't admit i might be pretty, because it feels like stepping over some invisible rule which keeps my wounds wide open, bleeding still. i can't admit i'm beautiful or smart or kind, because that'd mean betraying ten year old me, who only wanted to be wanted, so they shrunk themselves into a semblance of a human. would people even like the me who breaks and trashes whatever gets into their path, minor interferences within their greater destiny of a dying little soldier. made it out, barely, not really. if i could choose to be anyone i would never choose to be me. beautiful, kind, generous, smart are bullets and i laugh off all of the assumed things, all of the compliments and the smell of weakness closes in on me. i made it out, made it out on my own, i need no one, i am whatever worst remains of my silences and my unsaid confessions, the confessions of a ten year old child.

My damned, Christ-like devotion to hoping you might change your mind, to hoping the beginning was ahead of us, spring upon children aging out of innocence. My love for something that never was, for you, for softer times which passed too quickly, to be anything but blurs of colour. Do you ever miss me? I'll be here, changed, but the same old poet, I'll be here if you ever change your mind on going big or leaving for brighter places. I'll be here, praying for your downfall, not really, I'll be here, you can count on me.

The day he visits Ileana for the first time, it's raining, and the sky is mercury, poisonous to the whole world. The cemetery is still, of course it is. Now, when the world has rearranged itself yet again, there's a weariness in the air, which wasn't to be felt before. He doesn't know what came over his father, but he sat down Sebastian, the same day after he was discharged from the hospital, and told him where they had buried his sister. His sister, Ileana, Ilinușca, Ili, his little sister who will forever be nine. His sister, who would have been in her last year of primary school come the autumn, his sister, who hadn't yet lost all of her milk teeth, and who had a strungăreață which she hated, but that had earned her the affectionate veveriță from Sebastian.

and reminders of all those who have loved me.