do you still think of me like i still think of you? do i cross your mind? do you laugh when you remember our voice memos? do you hold yourself back at the thought of reaching out again? do you miss me? do you still have love for me?

Time is an abstract. Time is not real. It is really an illusion to think that we are out of it or that there is not enough of it.

It’s okay to move slow.

It hurts to see you not care about yourself.

I remember my mom crying like this and now, I understand her. You cry and he pulls you in a hug and laughs. He tells you he doesn’t like seeing you like this, and with everything you have left, you give him a smile too, but it doesn’t fix the brokenness you feel inside. Things are okay now until the next time we’re arguing about the same thing and all the while the dishes are dirty in the sink, and there is a bed to be made and a house to be cleaned, and you can’t do it while you’re crying so you wipe your tears away and start the dishes one by one, and you make the bed and clean the house until everything is perfect except you’re the cost and no wonder you feel so sad and empty inside.

i miss laughing at stupid shit in middle school with my best friend. life’s too serious now

Kindness is such a practice, especially when you’re unlearning the practices of the cruelty you endured. I don’t understand why it’s so easy to slip your tongue with the people that are least deserving of it.

It’s been a while since I sat around someone and just enjoyed their presence.