Relapse.
For all that I have aged and grown, I felt like a child again as I sat there in silence, listening to the tense discourse between them.
What is love if love is like this? If this is love, then perhaps I’d rather do without.
The morning.
The morning came with more depression than the night before. There was cotton in my mouth and a fog in my head…and it was then that I decided today would be quite dreary.
Christmas Eve, indeed.
This is the anticipation I don’t look forward to.
Undeniably and irrevocably lonely - It’s quite unfailing how I slip into this every season. I grow older and they have increasingly less time for me each year. I suppose it’s an attribute I must learn to get used to. Should’ve already gotten used to. Tomorrow at this very moment… there is no doubt that I will be sitting here as I am now, in the darkness with candles lit around me, my thoughts plagued with everything. Nothing. Such is my routine every Christmas Eve.
Cursed.
I believe the proof of my maturity is something ugly. I stare at its tangled mass and can’t suppress the curl of my lips. Hideous.
I feel like I’ve been gifted all the wrong things.
Escape.
I feel as if sometimes I just want to escape off into another world. Can you imagine another universe? Billions of possibilities out there, so many combinations of catastrophes and parallels, and the thought that we aren’t alone, that somewhere out there, there are others like us that wish they weren’t so alone, too. The hope that somewhere out there, loneliness and heartbreak don’t exist. Sometimes I just want to run away. (Pounding steps, gasping breaths, pure exhilaration…)
