My Best Friend From Ages Ago Texted Me Today. Said It Was Great To Think Of Me. Now We're Both 20. How

day 6

12:05 p. m.

where do all these tears come from. where do they keep coming from. don't you see i have else to do? don't you see nobody has the time to be in pain?

so many homes, so many goodbyes. where do i stay. where do i leave. i leave and i long. i run away until the road ends and then some more. too long, too far. i never want to leave anywhere. and then, everywhere. but is it really a tragedy, to have so much to love. so much to lose.

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

— Sylvia Plath

i'm so close. so fucking close to not caring. i'm so close to not giving an actual fuck about anything. anything. i could just stop. stop paying attention in class. stop doing my homework. stop studying. just stop. and no one can make me do anything if only i choose that.

i'm so close to the point where i just stop caring. about anything, everything. and it's scary. it's fucking scary. cos this isn't what i should want. i shouldn't want to stop, to give up, to leave. i'm too fucking young to think that life isn't worth it. i'm too fucking young to feel this tired. i shouldn't want to stop. i should want to live. i should want to read at a french café on a rainy friday. i should want to see the whole world from the top of the highest mountains. i should want to look at the skeletons of times gone by and people who tried to make a difference. i should want to know every single story that ever existed or ever will. i should want to wake up at one end of the world and fall asleep on another. i should want to write down all the words that are inside me. i should want to see the sun rise in rome and see it set in new york. i should want all of that. i should want to live. live a goddamned life. but all i wanna do is stop. all i wanna do is go to sleep and never wake up again. all i wanna do is stop. what do i do?

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.

it gets difficult to breath again. everyone is so far away. and i'm afraid. afraid that even if i do find the words to ask for help somehow, they won't hear me. afraid that even if i do start screaming, they won't know it's me. everyone is so far away and a part of me tells me it's for the best but gods, do i wish someone would hold me while my heart breaks.

day 12

2:51 a. m.

someone, somewhere, won't you ask me how i am doing? please, won't you ask me if there is something heavy on my heart that i would like to get rid of? won't you just listen to me talk through silences and tell you what's breaking my heart? won't you please hold me tight without my having to say it? hold me and wipe away my tears and tell me it's all going to turn out fine. tell me it'll be alright so i may sleep now.

last month was so hard, so fucking difficult. but now it's over. and i genuinely can't believe i've made it this far. i can't believe i survived through all of this one poem a time. i can't believe it was just the thought of this poem that had to be written at the end of each day that kept me going on so many of these days. that it was these words that kept me alive.

'i've hated the words and i've loved them. and i hope that i have done them right' (the book thief)

i haven't been able to let anyone read all of them. they're too sad. maybe i will, one day. i know i need to. it's only for so long that you can scream on paper, that you can bleed through words. someday, you have to show someone the cracks in the walls so that they can come in. i hope i have the strength to do that. i hope it's not too late when i do that. i think, the most important thing i've learnt this month is that, you have to hope, no matter what. because that is the only thing that keeps you alive when all the light is sucked out of your life and the world feels like it's run out of oxygen. you have to hope.

'sometimes the saddest thing is to hope. sometimes, the only hope is the constant sadness' (yashodhaan burange)

it's been a while since you left

well, two months, five days, seven hours and thirty-five minutes to be exact

it takes one minute for your heart to stop beating in the absence of oxygen

another six for all you cells to degenerate

after that, even your brain gives up on you

and you die

i don't know what my brain is waiting for

'you suffocate me', your note said

'i'm suffocating here', i wanted to tell you

but you never stayed long enough

now i don't know how to tell you this

but for the past six months, you've been my only reason to smile

and this might seem like poetry to you

but i'm not feeling beautiful

if you look into that gratitude jar

you'll find it full of your name

so i'm sorry if my love suffocated you

but please come back

i need to breath now

So I attach myself to people who are not those who are long gone or those who were never here and I listen to bands whose members are dead and movies that no one else watched and I talk to characters from books and stories and tell of my sorrows to the words for they don’t come to me telling me to be someone I’m not expecting me to do things I’m not capable of