Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
*goes through a hard time*
Me: I must be pretending
*feels incredibly lonely and wants to talk to someone*
Me: ew I'm too needy and weak
*experiences shitloads of emotional pain*
Me: stfu you're not a baby, gulp it down alone like an adult
There was a little girl. Maybe she was in me; maybe she was me.
But she talked too loud and she hurt and she cried and I didn't know how to make her stop.
So I slapped a hand over her mouth and held it there until she stopped struggling. Until it was quiet.
Maybe it was hate; maybe it was fear. I'm not sure why I did it and I don't know if she's still here.
Sometimes I feel echoes in memories of the person I used to be. The kind that feel like hope and pain and the unknown.
The me that cared so much I couldn't stand it. The feelings clawed at my throat and snubbed hot cigarettes in my eyes.
The emotions that set my limbs to restless and my heart racing until I was so exhausted i'd drop.
The me that was vulnerable. I killed her so I could be stronger, so I could be safe.
I feel distantly that I should mourn her but I can't think of a single thing about her to miss.
Maybe I'm not supposed to find myself in the past. Maybe I'm not going to achieve some mythical closure by carrying this sad corpse around with me. Maybe the best thing I can do is put her to rest an move on.
After all, you can't bring back the dead and I think that applies to yourself most of all.