Dreamt about you last night. Told you we should run away from our destiny. Told you we should try to change our fate. Woke up on the day I met you, and figured you were just as powerful as I thought. Still so unconscious, still so careless, still a sensitive skin, my fingers holding it with all the strength of my body, in order to change destiny. In order to get away from tragic fate Clotho wove, with the purpose of challenging what Lachesis decided belonged to us, throw away all the mourning, all the pain, all the avoidance. Pick up the needle and weave the threads in a linear, steady fate. Change all that I've known of you, even the fear of seeing you leave. Believing that you will never go, not even if I loosen my grip, not even if I turn away. Not even if my choice is to be someone. Grit my teeth and can't look away or stop a tear from falling because you're so close. Your mouth tastes the same. Your touch screams to me that you're leaving and that I'll love you because of it. Even though I'm the one who weaves our story, there's no world in which I love someone who chooses to stay. There's no space for safeness inside a brain build to chemically love the uncertainty. told you we should run away of our destiny and I just relived our pain savoring it with the knowledge you'd hurt me all the same. I'd be in pieces again. I'd wish it was different again. I'd tell you we should run away from our destiny again. I'd call you drunk, tell you that I love you, tell you that I miss you, tell you that I want to learn how to be for you. I'd do it over and over until I'm tired of tasting your lips (it'll never happen) until your skin doesn't feel as warm (it was always so cold) until I break my teeth from grinding them (i'll try to leave my fangs in your skin so I can be forever tied to your absence.) what I love about you the most is the way you're never here. There would be no love otherwise. Atropos will never cut the thread that ties me to you, I'll relive and relive my pain and your lack of commitment endlessly. there is no death for people like us, darling. I dream of you every night.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 2:14 PM UTC
I have craved for someone who looks at me like I exist. One thing about me is that I write because I don't know if my feelings are real: my body is, for all I've known, but I wonder if who I am is really who I am. Which parts of me exist because I needed to know I am more than a breathing being? What other beautiful things have grown where there was only room for mold? But I've done terrible things to feel real. To feel human. To feel deserving of love. To feel like my feelings aren't something I pass by, but something I am. I've craved for love and intimacy I was waiting for someone to tell me that the way I felt was unique. That only I felt this way, this exact way. I devoted in hope someone would tell me: no one loves me like you do. And my love would be something so, so real it'd only belong to me. I grind my teeth when I sleep, and I only discovered this tonight. I only want love to be told that I can exist in peace. I want violence because if I tell people just how hurt I am, they will show I certainly felt something when I was being ripped. Even though I don't remember. I write because I want to know I felt the same way I now know I grind my teeth because I broke my canine tooth. I want proof that I feel hurt, that I feel pain, that I feel sad, that I feel miserable. I want proof that I can be satisfied, happy, gentle. I want to break my canine feelings. I want to be more like a dog and just feel it. It first would be rage for everything I hid for not even knowing I could feel bad. I want eyes that are not mine, because I can't trust I exist if my feelings don't feel all that real.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 7:20 AM UTC