I was afraid to tell you again.
It's been so long
I've made progress
...I couldn't stop it
So, you don't know
The distance between you and me makes it easy to hide
But everyone else knows
They notice the discolored pigmentation on my wrists

The weather is warmer
More skin is shown
More comments are made

Depression has decided to suffocate me occasionally and I need a break
I can't go to class if I can't breathe
I can't socialize if I can't breathe
I can't feel joy if I can't breathe
But Depression doesn't listen to me
Depression doesn't mind seeing me in pain
Depression feeds off of my self loathing
Depression is really quite rude to me

hi im an introvert often mistaken for an extravert
i prefer listening
let me observe
i dont mind sitting with myself
notice that im not alone
i have me
and my thoughts
and this soft blanket of calm
dont take my blanket from me please

The thing about being cool with everything is that sometimes people will try to chill you into freezing a frame that you've only ever enjoyed in motion.

Ideally, I'd've gone home already.
Done the dishes.
Wished that all of this had never'd happened.

Anyway, I've a feeling that I'll feel ****** tomorrow.
About it.
And this.
Bliss is offset by unpreferred circumstances.

Meanwhile, the Peter Pan version of myself who lives in the back of my head is mockingly bleating like a sheep.

I've never had the most solid sense of direction.
I've this bad habit of getting lost;
first in thought and then, well,
literally.

But I've written things this whole time,
and every line is an arrow so that I can find my way back.
Back to some kind of bliss.
A state of mind that I can no longer feel,
but I know that I miss.

But isn't there a part in that story where the bread crumbs have been eaten by birds?

I can't remember.

How dare you?
How dare you make me feel...
                        ...like this
when I smell your aftershave on a stranger

Would I recognize you
If I saw you again
Would you smile
Say hello
Remember me?
"Ashleigh, right?"
Would I blush
I'm sure I would blush
"Noah, right?
Fumble over my words
Wanting more than the moment we had in that silver box
The elevator doors opened
And I will never see you again
Unless you were meant to open more
For me
And you would ask me,
"Could I call you sometime?"
You, with the strawberry cheeks
Shyly
"Of course"
Favorite pen on hand
His hand
Noah
The boy on the 4th floor I will probably never see again
Sincerely, the ******* the 4th floor you will hopefully see again

A sort of happiness existed inside me that hasn’t stepped foot in this unoccupied shell  for years
The familiar humming of my mini fridge
Vibrating enough that I can feel it
through the heels of my naked feet
Gripping to my left earlobe
as if climbing its way into my head
Reminding me that here
in this place
I’m much happier than I was on Spitfire
The stench of cigarette smoke
Memorized dimensions of walk-in closets
Forced happiness
Forever lost on that cul-de-sac