Much rather than having her dead. Let her live and let her loll in my joys, beauty, and happiness. whilst her soul is stripped naked and humanity no longer resides in her, nor will she know the ease of humility.
23 year old bully. people who are hurt, hurt.
The light at the end of the tunnel
It was never dark, but just a little less bright
It’s like finally feeling the mild spring air
After a bitter winter
The type of bitter that makes you forget what the sun is like
The type of air that kisses your skin
Kisses your soul
only the tough survive. Is it really that simple, and so very primal? Has humankind over complicated itself to the point, where when we get a simple outcome, it muddles our brain?Because it seems like these adversities that I am faced with, and forced to go with, is just what everyone else in the world is too. Life is a beautiful thing to be given, but you also have to act like it is. Everything that is tangible to the eye to see, it is here, because it's been able to survive through hardships. The small, seemingly magical moments that break-up the discomfort of the everyday, which is what makes everything worth living through.Even in this pandemic, and universal upheaval, there have been small moments of bliss for myself, and the collective included.
In the limbo of wanting to savor my youth, but growing tired of my lack of responsibility.
A hurt heart is as tender as the morning fog sitting up in a desolate lake. It’s thick and it stings your bones. It clouds your vision. You can’t see through the thick murky mist. It’s like the sorrow of the past making it’s home in your heart, sitting up in bed and gazing through the windows of your soul.
The walls, painted with the gloss of all the secrets that you and only you know, or the stuffed animal that has caught your tears through life’s afflictions. Or, the comforter that has kept you warm through those times where you swore this was the night your blood will run cold. Theres a furry, doe eyed, four legged creature of the heart, though there isn't an utter of any sort from either entity, there is a knowing. Stripped to your raw essence, he understands without question.
It is a torture of sort. The uneasiness of where the road can lead to, with only a few things that we know and hold true.. we endlessly hold out, all of our lives, we hold a lantern into the thick dark fissure of life until something of habitual significance comes along…then, we linger, again, for an encore.