"I don’t really like people, but it’s difficult to get comfortable with loneliness. I mean, I’ve tried to have friends, but it never works out. And I’m tired of going out alone. I’m ok staying in at my place. It smells good when I burn incense and I have a lot of records and I can just play video games.”
The bus she was waiting for arrived. “Do you need to go?”
"It’s ok. Another one will come in ten minutes… But then, you know, sometimes I just want a partner— a relationship. It would be nice to share this part of my life with someone. I’ve been single for years, and you know, there are people I could call if I wanted to. But people always end up saying things that rub me the wrong way, or if I open up to them, suddenly they want me to be their best friend, and I don’t want people to have expectations of me. I don’t want to waste anyone else’s time if I’m not interested in being close to them."
Another bus came and went while she told me about the loneliness, wiping tears from her eyes. Then another. “I’m sorry, I’ve talked too long.”
"It’s really ok. Sometimes we just need to connect."
"Yeah, I forget that sometimes."
She shelters herself behind thin walls and weak frames because regardless of how she hides, she wants to be found.
Warsan Shire (via infinite-paradox)
The sun has yet to fill its tendrils into the dark of my room. The buzzing of the air conditioner filters the hungering thoughts that crave you. I remember waking up every morning with your fingers curling around my hips as if I was the one who anchored you home. But there is no sea. There is no storm that could take me away from you. I wish to nestle into the nooks of your secrets and to feel your teeth map those velvet skies into my skin. I am yours.
5:00 p.m. (Please don’t ever think of me as a mistake)
Song of the Day: Holding On To You by Twenty One Pilots
I question your existence. Can any of us truly exist within the lives of others if we are capable of disappearing? I can feel your fingers tracing the veins running along my forearm, but the only thing that remains is the parted atoms that decided to bond with mine. I hope one day never comes, but one day, your voice may become the noise that fills the space of the dusted library in my head when I’ve lost the ability to articulate my thoughts. There is a risk in everything we do and I think I’m afraid of losing you. I suppose, I’m afraid of finding out that none of this was ever real.