I may have a skin disease. The disease can be fatal. I had a biopsy and the results are going to be in by Friday. My best friend doesn’t know. Nor do I think she cares to know. I’m losing her. Nobody really understands.
Forgotten Letter #452 by James Andrew Crosby
“I love you.” My voice seemed louder than ever before, bouncing off the walls.
After I spoke, I looked at him to see his reaction, but there was none. It was almost like my words hit the floor and shattered before he heard them.
Finally, after what felt like eternity, he looked over at me and his blue eyes met mine. “You’re sweet.”
My chest felt heavy, and my bones felt like they were slowly being broken along with my heart. My cheeks started to burn and so did my eyes.
He got out of my bed and slid on his pants, the silence between us never meant anything before but now it means everything. I can’t explain to you, how watching him walk out of the door that night made my head fill with confusion and my heart will with hurt.
I guess it was my mistake, to think that every time we went into bed we were making love. I confused sex, and greed, and two bodies connecting for something else. I thought that just because he kissed my skin, I was the girl he wanted, that with every bite he was marking his territory. I needed to learn, and this was my lesson, just because he lets you crawl into his bed he will let you crawl into your heart. Just because in the moment he looks at you with a look that could say more than a million words, it doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t mean anything, but to me, he meant everything.
This might sound ridiculously stupid but do you ever find yourself trying to take a picture of yourself and you take what seems to be like millions and just delete them all because you don’t look happy. The smile everyone sees is fake. You aren’t a beautiful human being because your eyes no longer light up when you smile unless you’re drunk and acting like a crazy mess. But what it comes out to be is you are just a crazy beautiful mess and very few people can see you that way.
I have never smoked a cigarette,
but I always crave the smell because when I was six,
my father would always let the smoke go through my nose and
run into my head and it would always fog up my eyes, so now I make sure to surround myself with people who fill themselves with this potion that allows me to go blind, but I can’t remember if It was the thick smoke or the sound of his breath that blurred
my vision all those nights
I have never drank more alcohol than I needed to,
because when I was ten, my friend told me a story
about the time when her uncle drank a little too much
vodka, and found himself standing on a table with a rope wrapped around his throat and accidentally tripped
so now I spend my nights counting how many glasses
of wine have passed through my lips, drinking just enough
to forget about him, but I can’t remember how many glasses
I’ve had now
I have never loved anyone
because I have met so many people who still cry
about the ones they say they still love, even though they were told that they were not loved back, and to see them shed tears and poems and blood for these people they consider to be gold, sends shivers down my spine and a burning in my eyes, so now
I make sure not to look at people while they are speaking to me
in case their eyes send a dagger to my heart, but I cannot remember how many strikes I have felt
|—||I Can’t Tell What is Right Anymore (via obltrate)|