𝖜𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞

you say you can't bring yourself to open up. you tell me, i'm talking to her right now, and she's giving me some pretty good tips. talking about opening up is the same as opening up, just how not thinking about it is the same as thinking about it.

i. my heart is not broken.

ii. i would prefer to be alone than to have someone love me.

iii. i am satisfied loving from afar.

iv. i am not selfish.

v. i love being friends with you even if we didn't work out.

ii. at 11 years old, i was drying my hair when i thought of killing myself.

iii. i had a bio class before my boyfriend broke up with me. i remember what song i had listened to that day.

ii. everything blurs by. i am alone, always. i cannot seem to stop feeling sad, cranky, alone. i sit and i stare. i cannot seem to do anything right.

iii. my head is heavy all the time. i think sleep is the solution.

iv. i fear sleeping: i define it as restless dreams, waking up again, things i have buried so far down that i seem to see them in the back of my eyelids.

v. i know where my father hides the screwdriver and i know how to take out blades from sharpners. i cannot seem to continue this way, i keep forgetting about it.

vi. i think i am happy.

we are sitting across each other at the table and we look at eachother. i want to say, "i love you," but i wait too long and the moment is gone.

masochism is a way to feel more alive – sharp edges, the marbled curve of the inside of my wrist. this is my dirty little secret. this is not me. i am perfectly fine, and content, and whole.

i sip my coffee whilst leaning against the counter in the kitchen. i make it a point not to stare at the drawer of knives.