anniek, 17 | australia | Can you imagine a space so empty as my mind? Sometimes, there's a chill that sends quiet shivers down my spine.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.”
the best otps are the ones who realise they’re in love with each other and quickly and firmly deny it to themselves for a ludicrous amount of time
We, the stumbling prophets
screaming ourselves raw,
wondering if Atlas will ever take
the world from our shoulders.
We, the impossible.
We, the unyielding.
We, the unrelenting heretics
burning alive for truths
the old world will never
be ready to hear.
We, the nuclear.
We, the radioactive.
We, the unwilling angels
choking on the innocence
shoved down our throats,
ripping these unforgiving
linens to shreds.
We, the celestial.
We, the hungry.
We, the courageous damned
kissing revolution in the moonlight,
crushing fate between our teeth.
We, the unholy.
We, the light.
friends that tag you in random posts like just about their day or things that remind them of you are the best kinds of friends