WHAT. LIES. BENEATH

And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.

I am living for the day when I find someone who will love me even when I am sad. Even when depression leaves scars on more than just my skin. Even when anxiety makes me ugly. Even when I don’t want to be loved. And I don’t buy into the bullshit that you can’t love someone until you love yourself first because my chest is burning with a passion for a familiar stranger that I haven’t yet met. And I have nothing but love to give to the person who sees something in me worth loving. Because a blind man still wants to know what the world looks like. Still wants to believe in what he cannot see. And I am living for the day when they find me. And they will tell me that they love me without exceptions and I will believe them. And I will believe that there is something in me worth loving. Even if I can’t see it.

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

My skin throbs with vain words and vain veins. You force my thoughts with careless notions and motions. Can I be free of all of you, and it. I am overflowing with casual casual casual promises and crass cares. Never never should have did not take those words back. please words, come back. back flow in through my pores, hugging each layer of scantily clad lanes of- smooth armed arms and canned hopes of stupid marks on my skin. You burned it. I never should have opened up. I should have swallowed and let thoughts of you roll back into my mouth and down my throat. Far away from all the already shattered love. See into my mirrored glance. I can not feel your heart. Emotions swept me up and cut my already trodden flesh.

Some people are good at being in love. Some people are good at love. Two very different things, I think. Being in love is the romantic part - sex all the time, midday naps in the sheets, the laughs, the fun, long conversations with no pauses, overwhelming seperation anxiety… just the best sides of both people, you know? But love begins when the excitement of being in love starts to fade: the stress of life sets in, the butterflies disappear, the sex becomes a chore, the tears, the sadness, the arguments, the cattiness… the worst parts of both people. But if you still want that person by your side through all of those things… that’s when you know - that’s when you know you’re good at love.