Perfection is the stuff of dreams. If this is true, then I'm having a nightmare. I never knew perfect sadness is possible. You can't be perfectly sad. There has to be a bit of happiness in there somewhere. Or so I used to believe. The world loves to prove you wrong. It has a sick sense of humor. I am perfectly sad. Perfect sadness is the stuff of nightmares. I know of nightmares very well. I have chosen not to sleep tonight. I don't know when sleep will come. It's the dreams I fear. That's where I see him, all the time, in so many different ways. Compared to things other people have experienced, other griefs, other pains, other sufferings, mine does not compare. This is only a broken heart. This is only disappointment. This is only the pain I feel because I think things are unfair. I thought I was special. I wanted to be special. But I think he kissed her, and he hugged her for such a long time. Longer than he did me. And I realized the truth. I am not special. I am...
Shh.. Don't tell anyone. Come closer. I have secret I want to tell you. It's important you don't tell a soul. This is just for you, from me. Now listen. I can barely wake up in the morning. My alarm is a rather annoying song and it plays continuously until I actually bash the button that stops it. Every morning at 7 am. But I'd wake up anytime to watch you sleep. I spend hours looking through recipes on the internet and at least one hour in the supermarket looking for things to cook for you. I'll then slave over a stove and spend a majority of my day making something while praying that it would at least be remotely edible, if not actually tasting good. Then I'll act as if it was something I did at the last minute with no premeditation whatsoever, and tell you that I've made something for you. You don't have to pick it up if you're too tired. It's fine. I'll just bring it to lunch tomorrow. Or something. No biggie. If I know you're going t...
The morning I cried
They took away my sunshine,
obscured my piece of sky...
and I cried.
I looked at myself in the mirror and pitied what I saw. I was pale, a blank piece of paper with a face drawn into it and puffed eyes. A messy mat of hair stuck to the top. I watched the color seep into the tops of my cheekbones, but everything else stayed pallid. The lips are always red, due to excessive biting.
I contemplated smiling into the mirror, and decided.
I wont be smiling today, but you won't notice me anyway.
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