Idek These Days. Are These Happy? Or Are These Sad? Ig These Are The Middle Days... The Normal Days That

day 2

9:19 a. m.

one of these days, you're gonna get used to being the last to walk up those stairs at night and the first to walk down them in the morning. that weird morning haze won't look so unfamiliar to your eyes. that first buzz of electricity won't sound so ominous. you won't need to blast lorde at full volume to drown out the silence. but not today. not so soon.

maybe being strong is all about pretending. i can't think of it otherwise. how else do they hold each other up? how else do i look you in the eye and tell you it'll be alright?

reminder to self: just accept that alarms aren't for you. and maybe... just maybe, crying to lorde isn't such a bad idea.

day 19

9:58 p. m.

this ends for us today, stranger. for i loved you, but i hated this too.

you came back today. you asked if i forgot to laugh while you were away. maybe i did. but i won't tell you. you asked how long it's been since you left and i pretended i hadn't been counting each day, writing out all these days to make their passing a little more bearable. but you're here now. it's going to be okay.

to the stranger reading this, i'm glad you were here. glad i wasn't alone. but here is where we part. for now.

goodbye

day 8

6:50 p. m.

remember the feeling of the autumn sun on your face. the way your old fall playlist brings only the good moments back. the way your flannels will always smell of coffee. of collecting falling harsingars in the mornings. rose pricks and paper cuts. all the dark academia vibes. remember them.

“It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.”

— Sylvia Plath

what do i do with all this untouched grief. it grows stale in my mouth.

what do i do with all this unpromised love. no one told me how to hold it without bruising.

day 7

10:40 p. m.

it's october now. don't you remember the poems? don't you remember the quotes? you can't be sad in october. it's for happiness and sunshine and smiles. but here's the longing, the missing. a thousand miles made of pain.

maybe one day the world won't hurt so much. maybe one day these words won't be a way to make sense out of all this. maybe one day.

i hope i stay for that day.

i want to go home now. go home and cook something warm. eat it under the familiar lights. curl up in my bed and read all day, all night. listen to my mother's voice as she sings far away, but close enough.

home is not the same now. but it also never felt the way i remember it now.

home really is the strangest of all places. you only ever seem to have one as a child. older, and you wish to run away. the first place you wish to run away from, no matter how much you proclaim to love it. it is only when you do leave, when you need a home thr most, that it ceases to be home anymore. it is only when you yearn for it more than anything you have ever yearned for, that you cannot recognize it anymore. you wish for home, but home doesn't feel like home anymore. you wish for your mother's arms, but she is not the mother you grew up with. or maybe she is and you simply do not recognize her anymore. when you go back, you run away again. and again, and again, and again. running away and away and away. towards home. wherever it may be.

day 16

10:40 p. m.

songs from a time forgotten. my poems in a language you'll never understand. our fingers never touch. there was a promise once. of a day meant to be spent together. a promise to never let go. maybe you gave it to someone else. maybe you always knew i was going to break it.

(and yes, i do remember another promise. to myself. to never spend any more of my words on you. i try. but maybe that's how i keep all my promises)

day 4

4:12 p. m.

maybe humor was always about getting rid of the pain. maybe all art has always been.