#scribbled words

Nothing has changed. And nothing will ever change, and hoping that it will is foolish.

But you’ve been foolish since you were a child. Bandaging the knuckles of those who hurt you in the hopes that your kindness would bleed into their bandages; so the next time they had to hurt you perhaps their hands would be a little softer.

But it never works. Maybe you did something wrong.

You try to change. You harden your heart, but you forget a brittle heart is easier to break than a soft one. You hold out to the hope that they’ll change, but forget you can change too. You never do, though. In fear that whatever comes next will be worse.

Or.

Or you bandage your own knuckles.

You bleed ink onto paper instead of kindness on the people that required those bandages in the first place.

You recognize you are not a variable factor of others actions. You change yourself instead of hoping they will change.

It’s not a happy ending by any means, but you’d rather a soft epilogue than a short book with a hard cover.

I am November rain,

And he was September sky.

How I wish

to be held by him,

the warmth melting my cold hands

and I would have spend my lifetime

laying there in winter sunshine,

with him drawing small circles on my arm.

But how ironic of him

to leave without even saying goodbye

and I am still waiting, standing there

so I can say a small hi.

I've been working on Phasing Worlds This lately, and updated the overall timeline. Sadly this made me realize my previously written chapters don't fit the current timeline anymore and so I've done a little something and posted them all in a "Pilot-Book" to Ao3.

These are the first 4 chapters which I will try to re-write in near future. In best cases I only need to tweak a few lines of dialogue but until I do that and start the full thing- enjoy!

i don’t feel like a person anymore.

it’s like my body broke first,

and then it started taking my mind with it.

one symptom at a time.

one appointment, one flare-up, one “you’ll just have to manage this”

until suddenly

i don’t remember what it felt like

to live without bracing for the next wave.

the pain is bad.

but the part that scares me more

is how empty i’m starting to feel inside.

like something in me has gone quiet.

like hope got tired of being ignored

and packed up without saying goodbye.

my thoughts feel foggy.

some days i can’t tell if it’s the fatigue,

the inflammation,

the meds,

or just the weight of pretending i’m okay

for too long.

i cry when no one’s looking.

and when i don’t cry,

i just feel numb.

not sad, not angry,

just… gone.

like i’m watching myself through glass.

my body doesn’t trust me

and i don’t trust it.

i can’t eat without fear.

i can’t plan ahead.

i can’t promise anyone anything anymore

without feeling like a liar.

sometimes i wonder

if this is all my life will ever be—

a constant negotiation between what hurts

and what i can fake my way through.

a quiet little war

between the version of me the world sees

and the one who stares at the ceiling at 3am

wondering how much longer she can do this.

people ask me what i need.

but what do you say

when the answer is:

i want a body that doesn’t feel like a cage.

i want to stop feeling like a burden.

i want this to not be my life.

but instead, i smile.

i say, “i’m hanging in there.”

because if i say the real thing,

i’ll fall apart.

and i don’t think anyone

knows how to hold me

if i do.