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A Letter I’ll Never Send
I step back, not because I want to, but because every step forward only bruises you.
I feel the ache in my heart for every harmful word I’ve ever shared.
Every pained look you viewed as hatred.
We used to speak in jokes and midnight whispers,
not in careful pauses and words left unsaid…
I still dream of the days when my presence was enough,
when I didn’t need to prove I meant no harm.
Now it’s hurt upon hurt, and for once I wish I could reverse time,
hold you, and say I never meant to hurt you…
I just love you too much to sit in silence.
Sometimes I look at you and I see someone I don’t know.
Changed. With new hopes, dreams, and aspirations…
This is the chapter where I leave you behind.
If I had known my love would sound like war to you,
I would have learned silence sooner.
Now it’s too late,
and there’s no version of me you will not see as something to fear.
I have spent so long proving I am not the villain in your story, I forgot I was supposed to be your sister.
And I do not walk away because I want to,
but because I have only ever been a shadow to your light.
I wish I could go back, just for a moment…
to the version of us that didn’t know how to hurt each other.
~ Leah Caron
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sometimes you are 19 standing in the kitchen wondering if you forgot to put sugar in your coffee again, how you will exit the teenage in 47 fridays, how you used to love watermelons 4 summers ago and now you can't even stand the sight of it, how there were floors that saw you wipe them clean of your own tears once, how you changed your favourite coffee recipe last summer because your bestfriend liked it and you guys haven't talked since then, how the new book you're reading was never really your type but you love it, how you hated your hair for 9 winters, how the windows of your new house are bigger, how you feel bad for hurting them, how maybe making mistakes is okay, how maybe you don't have to not eat that cupcake when you go out today, how the wind feels just right whenever you snuggle into your bed, how you were 17 and all the winter ache wanted you to open your kitchen drawers and look for warmth. how then you didn't know someday you'll be 19 standing in the kitchen wondering if you forgot to put sugar in your coffee again.
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Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you.
-Stevie Nicks
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It’s funny how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.
-Hotel Books
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My favourite game is to guess if my headache is due to dehydration, migraine, malnutrition, stress, lack of sleep, poor position or a brain tumor.
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i feel like my insides are rotting. all of my hobbies like journals and jewelry supplies are collecting dust and have been left untouched for so long. it's so hard to pick up a book. everything feels like a chore, my body feels like it weighs a thousand million pounds it's so hard and heavy to get up. all i see is what i want and can't have, i'm so aware of everything i'm doing but can hardly do anything about it so i just watch myself rot and think of the person i wish i was.
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The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.
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“You cannot make yourself feel something you do not feel, but you can make yourself do right in spite of your feelings.”
–Pearl Buck
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If Little Me Knew
If little me saw me now, she’d smile shyly and hide behind my mother’s skirt, peeking out with wide blue eyes, wondering who this grown woman was and what kinds of things she liked to do.
She’d think I was beautiful; maybe even wish she could grow up faster, imagining all the possibilities that come with being a “big girl.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?” she’d wonder. “I bet he’s handsome… I wonder if they ever dance together…”
So many questions. So much future ahead. A small child, gazing up at a person she dreams of becoming.
We’d walk and talk, my hand wrapped around hers, not wanting to let go. She’d chatter about bunny rabbits and baby dolls, digging homes in the earth and naming bugs she finds. Her joy is so pure, so simple. She lives in each moment; thinking only of her next run through the woods, the next tree to climb, the next animal to pet.
And I would listen, completely in awe of her.
But then her eyes would fall on the scars along my arms and legs.
“Did you fall from a tree?” she’d ask, her voice full of innocent concern.
I’d smile. “Yes. I did.”
It’s a lie, but I could never tell her the truth. Her world is still too soft for that kind of pain. She’s too full of wonder, like a mirror of what could have been.
To her, I’d seem like some kind of princess; not because of crowns or castles, but because I understand her. Because she feels seen in a way no one else could make her feel.
She might even think she wants to be like me.
But she shouldn’t.
The truth is, I’m unhappy. Unworthy. I’ve lost more than I’ve gained. The dreams I once clung to have faded, unraveled into nothing. I feel degraded, unlovable; a failure hiding behind a smile.
People can’t see it. But isn’t that always the way?
I wish things had turned out differently. Maybe just one small step taken another direction could’ve changed everything.
Still… the past is the past.
If I could, I’d hold that little girl close and whisper, “Be strong. Don’t lose yourself.”
But if she truly saw me for who I am now…
she’d run away crying.
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GUYS GUYS I SAID "OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD" IN THE MIDDLE OF AN ARGUMENT AND THEN HE DID WTF WTF HE KISSED ME WHAT THE FUCK IM NOT OKAY
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someone will ache for your soul. wait for them.
e.russell
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you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up.
-harry styles
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Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You
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No, I'm not ok. But I haven't been ok since I was 11, maybe 12. I am still here though. I'm still breathing. For me, sometimes, that will have to be enough.
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"I had a room to myself as a kid, but my mother was always quick to point out that it wasn't my room, it was her room and I was merely permitted to occupy it. Her point, of course, was that my parents had earned everything and I was merely borrowing the space, and while this is technically true I cannot help but marvel at the singular damage of this dark idea: That my existence as a child was a kind of debt and nothing, no matter how small, was mine. That no space was truly private; anything of mine could be forfeited at someone else's whim."
- Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House
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questioning
my body moves; my hands find work to occupy themselves with, my feet carry me from place to place… one event to the next. I consume food and water. I soak up the sun as well as the rain. I’m alive. But wait… is this really living? Do I feel ALIVE? No. This weight of constant anxiety and pain of the monotony. Never forgetting the past, no-one to love, nothing to move towards. None of the things I do truly give me joy. For what is living worth if you don’t feel truly alive?
cred: Leah Caron (thoughtsfromthecorneroftheroom)
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