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| been wanting to do this for a while |
| i love writing, i'm really bad at it, but it's my escape these might not make any sense at all mainly because i have images in my head and it's sometimes really hard to get all of it down as these are small challenges to myself. basically it goes out on writing a small little paragraph about what the song i'm currently listening to is about or what i gather from it, what it makes me feel and think also trigger warning Stephen - Remembering Myself He’s looking down at the table. It’s dusty, old, but nostalgic. He’s remembering the times when the two of them used to sit down, have a cup of coffee and ramble about each other’s days. He remember when she would tell about art she saw that day. The corner of his lips are lifted, he’s smiling and enjoying remembering these things. The little things. She was always so creative, spoke about the smallest things, she would flick his head if he spaced off. Which, for the record, was a thing he did a lot, especially now. Jaymes Young - What Should I Do They were packing, finding all kinds of unnecessary stuff to bring along. “Hey, let’s just bring all our hobby items along, I’m sure we’re going to be painting, drawing, writing and etc on our trip that’s going to be solely in a car!!” They both laugh and agree while they replace some of the hobby items with necessary items like clothes. Yup, they were planning on doing all of their hobbies naked. Strange couple if I must say so myself, yet so charming. They’re both sad souls, but together they’re powerful. They lift each other up, you won’t find a relationship like this anywhere in the world, mainly because they don’t exist. This is a dream and you’re in reality just lonely. Wake up. IAMX - Insomnia Waiting, waiting, waiting, but were they really waiting? They look at their bed. There's a blade there. The temptation, the lust for it, they're gonna do it! They're gonna do it! Their hand reaches out for it, but slowly; this is gonna be a mistake. It's gonna be a mistake! Yet, their hand reach the destination; the blade. They take it up, it's in their hands now. Such a little thing that ruin so many lives, they think to themselves. They're shaking, their already swollen eyes are tearing up again. They open their mouth just to whisper this to themselves "I've been so good, for so long, I can't deal with it anymore, I'm gonna cave.... I'm gonna cave in." Their tears are coming down hard, everywhere. First they reach their cheeks, to then stream down to the jawline and continuing down the neck. Their shirt is getting wet. This is not what they want, not what they want at all. "Let it end! This is torture, is this what life really is about? MAKE IT STOP!" they practically scream it out, but to their misfortune, they're home alone. No one hears them, no one listens to them, they're not seen, not now and never have been. It would be easier for them to let it end, but they can't. Their view of life is a another deal than what their head is telling them. Life is precious, life is a dear thing you have to hold onto regardless of how bad it gets; this is their view. This is what makes it hard for them. They can't betray themselves. Instead, they go to bed. They've put away the blade, it's hidden somewhere in the room where it's going to be forgotten, hopefully. They're lying in bed, crying so hard that they're dizzy, they can't see or think straight. It's dark, but there's a poster they enjoy looking at, but they can't see it. Their hands are gripping tightly onto the extra pillow they like to cuddle when things are hard and they feel lonely. Despite having put away the blade, they rock back and forth in a calm matter; they keep wanting it to end. Their head is mess. Let it end, is everything going on up there. It's hard, they're torn. "Am I going to let go of my mental illness, let my psychologist work it out and help me, but gaining a huge amount of fear that my family will forget about me... or do I hold onto it so they can't forget to love me?" These are reoccurring thoughts to this young person. Will they ever love me for who I am or because they have to? |
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