Your aura spills into my half empty soul
I'm pessimistic, I refuse to believe it's half full
You know when we hold hands for too long and our palms get clammy?
Well I don't mind, the sweat reminds me of the anxiety I had when I first met you
How you turned that anxiety into comfort
How that comfort completes me
It's not that my soul was broken
It just wasn't fully developed
I know you
Your voice plays a familiar song
Your smile tells a familiar story
I hadn't heard that story in a long time
But now I recite it every time you cross my mind
I smile
Your aura spilled into my half empty soul
No longer do I feel incomplete

i'm afraid. . .
. . . but i shouldn't be.
i linger on
. . . hesitations.
italktoquicklysometiemsspeedingupandforcingmyselfto
s
l
   o
     w
d
o
w
n
and when i'm slow again,
when i'm clear again,
when I

.....
pause.
i seek comfort in the strength of words, of music...
something
that i can't
lose
again.
something i can TOUCH.
something i can FEEL.

only to find it, and
lose it once more.

I remember being next to you
No matter which one was you
The lights were dim and we were close
I remember being next to you

It was late and warm, there was rain on the windows
It was a new feeling because you weren’t him
It was an old feeling because I’ve been here before
I remember being next to you

I remember the first time you touched me
A sly smile because we’ve both been waiting
Each one soft and then surprising
Uniquely
I remember being next to you

I had the giddiness of a small child
Barely able to get out my words before laughing with nerves
A silliness that only presents itself in new situations
A wittiness that is limited time only
I remember being next to you

But it wasn’t him
With him there was winter
And the walls were white because of the sun and the snow
And we weren’t in a bed or lying on the floor
We were on the couch and we always woke up too early
His eggs were cooked in oil and it always left a crispy rim
I didn’t like it all that much but it was familiar
The shower was always cold and the walls were in need of washing
He’d then kiss me romantically but there was never enough room
We’d end up laughing for the attempt at trying to be ****

Busy, busy, we were always busy
There was an innocent bitterness under my breath
Upset because he did not cancel the day’s priorities
Always feeling like we never had enough time
Yet remembering my time with him the most
Remembering my being next to him

Suffering from depression is like:

biting your nails
when they're already too short

picking at your wounds,
and not allowing them to heal

living in your past,
because you're afraid of the future

feeling lonely,
yet being afraid
to burden other people
with your presence

wanting to get things done,
but being too unsure of yourself
to even try

you want to be happy,
but being sad is what you're most familiar with

you're afraid to live,
and afraid to die,
but you never know which option is worse

Tell me a secret.
Tell me about that time.
That place.
It's ok.
You can trust me.
I'm going to assume you're lying anyway.