(no subject)
Nearly two years.
Gods, I never want to go back. I'm crashing into the future, digging myself out of the mire that is my mother's bad choices, my family's drama, my fears.
My life, my mistakes to make, right?
I've been wondering lately how much of this is an act. Your words and mine. I crave who we use to be. I crave the words, the elaborate descriptions, the metaphors and lies, secrets and mysteries. But are they just an act? Are you actually weak inside? Is there only the promise of feral desires, empty, never to be fulfilled?
And am I no better?
I finally embraced the winter, the long nights and cold, cold air through my window. Then spring came, early. Last winter we got snow. Last winter I wasn't ready yet for darkness and cold, last year snow reminded me of that man's house, of running away into a winter wonderland that should have been perfect but wasn't.
This year, I'm darker. This year, I can say his name. I can remember him and laugh- a sinister laugh filled with disgust, perhaps, but power, too.
But when is it too much? Am I lying to myself? Does that darkness I hunger for exist?
Do I make it exist simply by wanting it?
Well. Calculus time.
Gods, I never want to go back. I'm crashing into the future, digging myself out of the mire that is my mother's bad choices, my family's drama, my fears.
My life, my mistakes to make, right?
I've been wondering lately how much of this is an act. Your words and mine. I crave who we use to be. I crave the words, the elaborate descriptions, the metaphors and lies, secrets and mysteries. But are they just an act? Are you actually weak inside? Is there only the promise of feral desires, empty, never to be fulfilled?
And am I no better?
I finally embraced the winter, the long nights and cold, cold air through my window. Then spring came, early. Last winter we got snow. Last winter I wasn't ready yet for darkness and cold, last year snow reminded me of that man's house, of running away into a winter wonderland that should have been perfect but wasn't.
This year, I'm darker. This year, I can say his name. I can remember him and laugh- a sinister laugh filled with disgust, perhaps, but power, too.
But when is it too much? Am I lying to myself? Does that darkness I hunger for exist?
Do I make it exist simply by wanting it?
Well. Calculus time.