a letter to shinji at twenty-one, from shinji at twenty
after a morning run.
With each gulp
trying to forget
everything that pains you.
for your mother
is fighting a losing battle
with the cancer cells
raging through her bones.
for the your unborn child
who’s life you had to end
after he you raped
15 years ago.
for your life,
that was once
and just seems far less
painful to forget.
Fourth, fifth, sixth,
for every other reason
to have forgotten.
And you won’t stop
until that bottle is as empty
as your eyes.
Cry some more,” he said. His intensions were good, and she knew.
Let the pain seep out through salty waters.
But he talked as if there was an end to it, as if it would all eventually leave the body through the copious amount of tears.
What he didn’t know was that she could cry until she was dry, but the pain would still be there, numbing her core and making her deaf to her surroundings.
He didn’t know that there was no freedom in that.
How can such hurtful words come from good intentions? Or maybe we have different definitions of pain and I just couldn’t handle the truth.
The pain is 9 out of 10, I tell the nurse. Suddenly a voice calls out on the intercom.
"Code blue. Code blue…"
And suddenly I’m not hurting anymore. The pain on my side that keeps me from breathing is nothing to the sound of the flatline.
It’s destroying lives.
i am too afraid to try and touch his fingers. the wind will blow and his scent will wrap itself around me. but i do no budge. he will speak and it is his voice that makes me feel the rivers and streams of blood that flows through my body. i become warm. and when he looks at me with those lazy eyes, i feel naked. suddenly i shrink into myself as if i’m afraid to show anymore than i need to… in fear that it may scare him away. but his eyes are always so warm and familiar. he respects my fear and only waits patiently.
have you ever met someone so beautiful that you want to lay your head against his or her chest just to hear their heart beat? ever want to hold their hand so you can count the lines on their palms? ever want to do the simplest thing to them, like touch the tip of their nose, twirl your finger in their hair, or even just sit a bit too close to them? all these are simple things but what they do to you is anything but that. you become the image of calm and collected
and the definition of instability and passion.
i cannot allow myself to give in to his smiles nor can i get too comfortable. i cannot listen to the rhythm of his heart nor know how many lines he has on his hands. i cannot get too close to him.
ever just look at someone and see just how good of a person they are? and then look at yourself, look at all your faults and baggage, and then think to yourself you are undeserving? ever realize you’ll only drag him into a place he never needed to know existed?
that’s why i cant get too close. i cannot allow myself to dirty someone like him.
I have never been so attracted to a man that’s 30+ years older than me and not a celeb.
He doesn’t even look young for his age. He actually LOOKS his age, with the graying hair and crow’s feet at the eyes, and the excess of hair peeking out his shirt haha
I just wanna bone lol
Someone called my family fake because we aren’t honest with what we feel. That’s not fake. That’s called being civil.
You want to know what’s fake?
Fake is when you complain about my family a shit ton and then turn around and ask them for help.