(no subject)
and you get sick of the moods, of the times when it becomes apparent of how fucking human you are. you cry, you pace, you drink coffee and smoke too much and drive too fast and talk too loudly. and then you wonder how obvious it is. whether anyone can even tell, and how some people can tell so well.
i'm pretty sure he'd be the first person to hate me for who i am. he sees and remembers and reads too much into things. and the way he looks at me sometimes tugs at something deep in my chest because he sees me. not through me, doesn't look at me, but for these moments i think that we connect, you know?
so it's January, right? a whole new year, but it's not. for the same reason i hate those inspirational posters plastered to my classrooms walls: "tomorrow's a bright new day." piss off. time isn't magical, not in that sense. things aren't erased; tomorrow isn't a fresh start, it's another day trying to avoid what i was hiding from today.
i've buried myself beneath this pile of old ideas and habits and thoughts and i'm just fucking stuck in it. my brain needs debriding; i've got this morbid daydream of hollowing myself out, takking a spoon to my insides like a jack o lantern and being empty and clean again.
growing up is accumulating. it's the build-up of thoughts, moments, memories. the gathering of scars. you can't get rid of that shit; it's a part of you. year upon year after year and i already feel heavy; even though i keep losing the heavy things (time. memories) gone.
i'm pretty sure he'd be the first person to hate me for who i am. he sees and remembers and reads too much into things. and the way he looks at me sometimes tugs at something deep in my chest because he sees me. not through me, doesn't look at me, but for these moments i think that we connect, you know?
so it's January, right? a whole new year, but it's not. for the same reason i hate those inspirational posters plastered to my classrooms walls: "tomorrow's a bright new day." piss off. time isn't magical, not in that sense. things aren't erased; tomorrow isn't a fresh start, it's another day trying to avoid what i was hiding from today.
i've buried myself beneath this pile of old ideas and habits and thoughts and i'm just fucking stuck in it. my brain needs debriding; i've got this morbid daydream of hollowing myself out, takking a spoon to my insides like a jack o lantern and being empty and clean again.
growing up is accumulating. it's the build-up of thoughts, moments, memories. the gathering of scars. you can't get rid of that shit; it's a part of you. year upon year after year and i already feel heavy; even though i keep losing the heavy things (time. memories) gone.