like my love for you

Where there is lightening, there is thunder.
Sometimes never to be heard.

I feel bruised everywhere.
On my mind, in my mouth, on my body.
I've been figuratively punching myself,
and selfconciously depriving my bruises of the ice needed to heal.
Sorry hands, but I like the colour purple.

Face them, I'd like to tell her.
They look like shadows but when you touch them,
They turn into fireflies.

"You're not stressed, just bored."
Maybe. Maybe she is bored,
hence her crying in her room alone,
hence her panic attacks hiding in the closet,
hence her tired eyes glimmering with tears,
She is probably just bored.
How can you say that, how can you say that without caring if you break her self esteem, without regret fracturing your heart? How can you say that when you feel the heaviness of her chest as she enters the room, sitting there against the chair with her pale complexion and that look of defeat in her eyes? What kind of person thinks that boredom can destroy a little girl like that?
She is not bored, I promise you.
It is much worse.
She is breaking.
And you just added a crack to her spine,
dismissing her heart like it was nothing.
She is not nothing. She is my everything, but she thinks that she is nothing because you said that she was bored and that the monster in her chest, feeding on her blood supply was a butterfly instead.
How can you say that?

Don’t make a spider web
to become trapped in it yourself.

Shell ✨🐚

"I would've," she said.
"- but they were busy with someone else."