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All my old writing was as accurate as premonition, as if I wanted a tragedy to JOLT ME from my sleep.

The silver lining is I suppose I got what I wanted,
it just wasn't the tragic self harm I dreamed of.
More like a tragic mistake that destroyed the boy I once was, and the girl I once knew.
Premonitions are old tales now, time keeps on moving.
Junior year, stop signs on the road, walking across town, back to the county line, passed go.
Ten years in a petri dish, the psychiatrist asks me why I think I care.

"Well friends are forever, aren't they?"
We never talk anymore, high school proximity was the only thing that kept us all together. You could have all very well been someone else in someone else's life.
But one day it won't matter, right?
The entire class will no longer be recollected as to ever have happened.
We all drift apart in the end, and we all will be forgotten by someone.
You can live an entire life with someone in your dreams, and they would never know.
The first kiss you shared, and the last words you spoke to them before the waking dream loses them, neuron to neuron, cell by cell.
Then I thought,
you could do so awake as well.
Memories are so fragile.
Ode to the lovers

slaves to one another.

So exhausted.

Hope is running dry,

 losing the glint in their eyes.

I hope you make it out of this alright.
Another night, taking the dog out, headphones in, the moon's glare in my eye. Like a limelight.
A moment clear as I walk down the flight of stairs, and everything around suddenly becomes like stone, to sand. My clarity becomes fleeting..
My delicate heart could cease on this midnight walk beneath this warm glow, and would anyone know?

Would even I, know?
Just contemplating life and death again.
This is a story of a girl, lonely since the day the dust was given life. How deathly afraid she was to return to that dust. How deathly afraid she was to tell her family that she felt alone, even in their arms. How could she tell them she had no friends?
Those people she wished she knew, those people who she wished would just remember her name. Those people that really shouldn't have mattered at all.


Every last breath of her soul snuffed out, crystalised personalities, smiles, laughs, humanity, blanketed by false securities given by every friend she had.
Including me.

Do you still want someone to say goodnight to you? To talk to you everyday, dream of you, give you their all, to climb in that hole of yours after you.
After you realize you aren't who they think you are and attempt to claw out of your hole? Leaving them alone.

If so, the night will come, and they will return as dust upon your shoulder.
A final goodnight, a last blanket with a whisper of your name, and an
I love you. Still.
My story was always about you, and you alone.
They say that time heals all wounds, but where do I sell my time to heal my soul?
What do I do with my time?
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