Scream low - Scream sayonara
It broke last night because I listened to old songs.
We were reminiscing like we're prone to, and the words you said were eerie echoes of all the promises he whispered in my wake - following me out the door as I fled the afterglow.
I don't miss those days
I wonder why things changed.
I feel old, tired, broken and cold. The snow is falling again, but it sticks to nothing because this city gleams, shiny and cold, with deception. The workload this semester is unreal. As I slog through opera, dry readings, an intense analysis of the American political system AND attempt to shoot, digitize and edit a broadcast news package, my fear for the future grows.
I got mugged on Monday - out $13 and whatever faith I had in my fists.
Memento Mori - I haven't yet etched it in my flesh, but I already know it's a lie.
So I cried last night on the roof as the snow fell and remembered why I hate it so much. It's been building up for the past week, burning the corners of my eyes, making it hard to swallow.
It breaks free - all the fear, frustration, rage and I have to hide out in the cold. They must not see me falter. I am perfection: flawless control, impeccable poise, strength, resolve. How far gone am I that I hide my weaknesses for the safety of others?
I remember when he loved me. I remember when people cared so much about me it made their heads hurt and kept them up at night. I miss violent fights, with tears and fists. I MISS BEING MISSED.
This is my secret. I'm sending it away, in hopes that someone still cares. I still have a livejournal. It has all my secrets. No one remembers it exists.
We were reminiscing like we're prone to, and the words you said were eerie echoes of all the promises he whispered in my wake - following me out the door as I fled the afterglow.
I don't miss those days
I wonder why things changed.
I feel old, tired, broken and cold. The snow is falling again, but it sticks to nothing because this city gleams, shiny and cold, with deception. The workload this semester is unreal. As I slog through opera, dry readings, an intense analysis of the American political system AND attempt to shoot, digitize and edit a broadcast news package, my fear for the future grows.
I got mugged on Monday - out $13 and whatever faith I had in my fists.
Memento Mori - I haven't yet etched it in my flesh, but I already know it's a lie.
So I cried last night on the roof as the snow fell and remembered why I hate it so much. It's been building up for the past week, burning the corners of my eyes, making it hard to swallow.
It breaks free - all the fear, frustration, rage and I have to hide out in the cold. They must not see me falter. I am perfection: flawless control, impeccable poise, strength, resolve. How far gone am I that I hide my weaknesses for the safety of others?
I remember when he loved me. I remember when people cared so much about me it made their heads hurt and kept them up at night. I miss violent fights, with tears and fists. I MISS BEING MISSED.
This is my secret. I'm sending it away, in hopes that someone still cares. I still have a livejournal. It has all my secrets. No one remembers it exists.