Latest Posts by every-perfect-summer - Page 2

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?

day 5

6:49 p. m.

maybe it really is that easy to get over stuff. or maybe it's just doing everything you can so you don't have to think about it. denial. ignorance. or pain. who knows which one is better. i don't want to find out that answer.

day 4

4:12 p. m.

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

day 3

2:09 p. m.

oh look, we're back where we started. is this really how long grief lasts? is this really how long the pain at not being able to take away their pain lasts? or maybe this is just... an illusion. nothing more.

'this dream isn't feeling sweet

we're reeling through the midnight streets

and I've never felt more alone

it feels so scary, getting old'

tell me though, what remains when this is over. tell me it isn't just pain.

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.

i know it feels like your pain is out there in the world for all to see but it's not. it's so deep inside your heart even you can't feel it. and even if it wasn't... even if it was out there for all to see... what would be so terrible about that?

day 1

8:44 a. m.

for all they say about death, about pain, time seems to move relatively fast when you're not paying attention to it. the last conversations, the last pictures... what to do with them now? now, when this pain doesn't even make sense.

reminder to self: playing lorde on repeat only makes you cry in your coffee and crying gives you a headache. don't do that. also next time, try more than 10 alarms in a row. that might help.

idek these days. are these happy? or are these sad? ig these are the middle days... the normal days that normal people have, when they follow their schedules and do normal people things. but like, who even are these nornal people? who here does not have something hurting them at any given point in time? who here does not get days and weeks and months when they just... can't. i can't believe that exists at all. but maybe it does, who am i to judge. maybe i would like to be there someday. someday...

it's always when the anxiety is gone that i realise how bad it really had been. how crying everyday is not normal. how it's not supposed to hurt when you breath. yet somehow, when it returns (and it always does) , i forget again. i pretend life is supposed to hurt this much. that looking at beautiful things is supposed to make you wish you were dead. but it doesn't hurt now. so i'm writing this... as a reminder, for the next time. remember, it got better this time. it got better every single time and you were glad for that. it will get better this time too. it will get better and there'll be rains and clouds and poems and songs and stories and people to look at and be with. it will get better and you will remember how much you love to write when it's not to simply get rid of the pain. you will go to bed giddy with laughter and take care of your body even if it's a long way still to love it. you will sing along to your favorite songs and dance you will say i love you to all those you love and hear them say it back. you will see that it's not just darkness waiting for you in the future. that there's a dream you have. one which you love working for. there'll be words and smiles and memories and so much more. this feeling I'm feeling right now, i'm giving it to you through these words. this happiness i feel, i hope you remember this.

and i'd really, really like to believe that there's someone out there reading all this. reading this and rooting for me to make it through this. because if not, then what am i even doing here?

everything feels like it happened a long time ago. like it wasn't just yesterday that you held my hand. like the room doesn't still smell of you. like my smile has been here too long. like it's gone stale. like i'm not really here anymore. like someone's living this life and i'm just watching from a distance. like this life isn't even mine anymore. like i 've turned into a shadow and nobody knows i'm here anymore.

and if you ask me, i can't tell you what would be so bad about that. if you ask me, i'd rather you forget me than not.

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

— Sylvia Plath

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

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)

as a kid, i used to read the maps

whenever i used to be upset

i would open up any map

and simply stare at it for hours on end

absorbing the world

thinking of all the places i've never been

of all the places i'll never be to

nowadays, i read theories about the universe

how it started

how it might end

time travel and black holes

relativity of time and the songs of the universe

did you know, two black holes,

before colliding

create sounds waves in the very fabric of the universe

imagine being so sad and beautiful and terrible

the multiverse theory is still my favorite

to imagine worlds where i simply don't exist

never did, to begin with

i wonder if someone in that other universe

ever feels like they are missing someone they've never met

someone who doesn't even exist

i hope not

so maybe what i really wish to say

is that right from the start

the world has always been

my only escape from the demons inside my head

of promises

and how i break them

there was my mother

i promised to never let her cry

the first one i broke

there were my friends

ones i promised to stay with forever

i broke them anyway

there were my words

all the 'iloveyou's and 'imissyou's and 'i'mtrying's

i promised to say them

only when i meant them

i broke those too

there were my tears

i promised to shed them only on those

who deserved them

well, when have i ever kept my promises?

then there was you

asking me to promise

and i'm gonna break this too

i promise anyway

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?

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

Your eyes are so lively that they dance like humans underneath the starry sky.

- does this even make sense (via sunhsetful)

Not everything beautiful needs to make sense