Paranoidpoppy Writes - Tumblr Posts

a poem about sleep and fear

It is late, and I find myself wrapped in blankets, phone screen casting my face in sharp shadows and spotlights. I scroll through photos and videos, overcome with some awful feeling of dread. Is this nostalgia? Regret? Hope? Happiness? Despair? Do I wish this went better? Do I wish I could relive it? Change things? Am I longing for something perhaps? Or do I simply not want to be in this current moment? So many questions with only answers that I can figure out. How daunting. What a chore. Memories resurface, plaguing me with emotions that have not stirred in a long while, perhaps had not been experienced since then. I beg sleep to pull me into his unremarkable embrace. Beg for him fill me up and distract me with dreams and nightmares because I would rather take that gamble than sort through these strange feelings. Yet, he ignores my pleas. Standing still in the corner of my bedroom, watching like a hawk, shifting like midday shadows. His form undulates like a tide as he approaches slowly. Each step is purposeful. Carefully calculated. What does he know that I do not? What does he gain from this show I put on? Time seems to speed up, ten minutes passing in the blink of an eye. I come to focus on the barely noticeable, yet constant, feather-light tug on my heart. It pulls me toward an end that I cannot see, cannot even begin to fathom. Oh… so it was fear of all things. That is what was shaken up inside of me. Fear of time. Fear of the now, and the then, and the next. Sleep stares down at me now, watching, his hooded eyes hungry and lustful. Deceit and amusement laced through his uncanny complexion. He knows that I have figured it out. Knows what dreams and nightmares to wrap around my neck and strangle me with. I glare, though still long for the end of this wakefulness, the end of these thoughts. Yet, I am unwilling to succumb to the illusion of silken sheets he bribes me with. He tries something different now, this time methodically wrapping his spider-like fingers around my heart, tugging on it gently, testing the waters. I feel the strain, the pull forward. The terror and panic of losing time shoots through my body like a bolt of lightning splits a tree in two. In his soothing voice he whispers that he will give me more time, give me more opportunities. Now that is a bribe. An offer I cannot possibly refuse. He knows what I really want, and now he cradles my life in his deft, sinful hands.

The Moon and Her Sun

The moon swings lazily

Lounging contentedly

Watching cars roar through night

Waning and waxing

It's just so relaxing

To watch it fall with new light

Selene you watch over us

Help create more of us

Why do you care for us?

She greets her lover

There's smiles all over

Presses sweet kisses into his skin

Laughing and loving

We wish we had their thing

Affection made only for two

Helios, your heart watches over us

She gives life to us

Just as you do for us

When I think love, I think of your face. I think of you, flushed pink with that familiar haze you get when I kiss you till you've forgotten your name. Of the eyes that watch me to gauge my day. The ears that listen to what I say, and the lips that know exactly how to make everything right again.

You soothe my shaking, nervous, frame. Calm the thoughts that swirl around my head needlessly. When I'm with you I'm grounded even if I'm miles in the air.

No name

What do they call it

When you feel this lonely

Is it something stupid

Or a word no one knows

It’s this crippling fear

That no one will ever love me

I find myself craving

This type of affection

That nobody seems

To be willing to offer to me

It’s difficult to realize

That love isn’t meant for you

I lie in my room

Thinking thoughts that consume

Every will, every inkling of hope

How do you cope,

With the knowledge that

You’ll never have someone

To call home?

To dance in the kitchen,

To sing way too loud,

To laugh ugly laughs,

Without thinking about

What they think of you

What do you think of me?

Maybe Sooner Than We Think

You got me daisies for prom, yellow and white and unexpected

We’re still teenagers yet together we watch the future start to loom

Right now all we can do is make promises and swear on our lives

I promise someday I’ll pick out towels for the bathroom with you

I swear someday we’ll choose a couch that reminds us of these days;

The lazy ones filled with spontaneous kisses and “I love you”s

Our apartment will be home to all things that ever meant home,

Your rocks and my rocks alike

Someday, we’ll have a place to ourselves

A couple of rooms where everything is finally alright

A bouquet waits for us, colorful and alive in our new kitchen

The Heron

I want to weigh nothing and bury myself in a nest of silken sheets and blankets that never crumple or lose their softness. I wish my flesh was made of feathers so I could take off and get away from the mess I am tangled in.

Let me not feel guilt or shame or any of these very human things that are nothing but more weight on my already bulky and grotesque form.

Oh to be a heron; Lanky and graceful in all the most terrible ways. I'd like to wade through water with the patience of a mute and the calm of an empty auditorium. Legs like the kind of grass that ripples in a breeze. Tall, thin, and unkempt. Feet that strike the earth with precision and purpose. A beak sharp as the tools humans use to butcher what could have been my meal. And eyes that bore into souls, yet have none of the sort behind them.

Alas, I am bound to this human form and burdened with thoughts that branch far past what my next meal will be and how I will feed my offspring.

Let me know happiness as simple as the creatures that move around the Earth. Not dependent on others. Carefree and beautiful in my solitude and selfishness.

The heron feels complete even though its existence is truly nothing special in others' eyes. The heron cannot damage things that matter, unlike myself.

Early morning

When I woke up today I had tears on my cheeks and in my eyes

They tasted like the lemonade we made in the summer and change

The school in my dream had spoken in tongues different from the ones I’ve learned

And my friends there left as quickly as they came

Pleas in what sounded like gibberish spilled from my lips and met my pillow in the same way as the tears

Begging my parents to put me somewhere else where I felt like I belonged even a little bit more

My pillowcase is damp now as I dry off my face

Unaware, he snores beside me, eyelids fluttering, chapped lips parted slightly

I touch his skin and it is the only thing that keeps me grounded when everything spins

He is the only one that will know what the red dots on my calendar mean,

The only one that will know that the small hearts mean him

And hopefully he knows that I could never make them big enough to sum up the affection that truly lives inside of me

How wonderful it is to be loved like this

How unfamiliar

How different it is from the dark fog of my mind in 8th and 9th grade

I haven’t learned much since then

And I still don’t know anything really

Only that I love my boyfriend like blood loves a knife; aching and struck red by the Sun revealed at long last

And that my family raised me to believe knives are bad

Portrait of a Miracle

"We belong in a museum", I think. We're somthing by Van Gogh maybe. All swirls of blanket, light, emotion, and colors so vibrant it's hard to believe they exist in a material as simple as paint. The soft curves of our faces and bare skin are carefully contoured to highlight our expressions, position, and proximity. Maybe the painter centered the angle between us, both of us visible. The story of tonight visible.

I shift closer to you at that thought, comforted. I open my mouth to say something, but words fail. My lips find yours instead, a hesitant hand on the back of your head, my fingers gently burying themselves in soft locks as you reciprocate. An affectionate kiss, meant to express love, adoration. Not desire. Not want or need. Simply gratitude, contentment, and happiness. 

This feels natural. Like life was meant to be this way. With you. Calm. Stress-free and warm in a way I didn't know things could be. You're warm. Warm like how it feels to walk into a restaurant in the dead of winter. Maybe the colors on our painter's canvas are shades of orange and red and yellow, those wintery colors forgotten in the rush of emotion that spurred the portrait. I wonder if this will last forever, because it feels like forever. Because I want it to be forever.

I might crumble into sharp fragments if someone touched me.

My skin soft and warm beneath his hands; flesh dipping and submitting to his fingers like an overripe fruit.

No,

I would melt before any contact happened. Soak into my sheets just as rain does with the ocean.

I am entirely new to this, virgin to touch, inexperienced and terrified of all things in this realm of life.

Do you know what you do to me?

My Heart

It hangs precariously from a single digit on your left hand. A fragile thread keeping it aloft as it shifts restlessly in a breeze. I presented that broken and wrongly-bloodied mess to you in the form of a confession. It was a guilty admission that I had done something terribly cruel to myself. I trusted you to care for it. Then this? This is the treatment it receives? It does not even rest in your palm. I had expected for you to treat it with a little more care and respect, to treat it better than I have, but no. You could not even offer me the courtesy of holding it responsibly, so that if it falls and breaks, it is your fault. So that I can blame you instead of the winds.

Those arteries and veins and muscles that pumped life through me; I gave them to you because you had me fooled that you could care for them better than I; That you could keep the blood as red and pure as wine; That you could keep it from spilling time and time again; And from creating a new, harder to clean, deep red stain on the carpet of my bedroom.

A bedroom is a god's domain. You would know. A space that should be worshipped and treated as if it is a church or a temple. Each time you spill blood in my bedroom you taint my life like no other can. Because I gave my heart up to you in a blinding haze of unusual affection and compassion that has driven me mad ever since.

I hope that next time you are careless and my heart breaks a little more in consequence, you are reminded that the lost blood will follow you. That my tragedy does not exclusively lead to me anymore. Your footsteps leave their prints behind in the same horrifying deep red.

There's a strange peace that comes with spending time with someone dear in the later hours of the day. Tranquility that can only be found when with the people that matter most, and still, only on occasion. I admire your form as if it is the last thing I will see before I become blind. Because it's the only thing worth seeing when time is running short like this.

The way you are around me makes me feel as if you believe the same. You keep things that matter to you close still, yet make me an important fixture in this moment.

I will forget.

Nauseous, I roll over. My mind turns with me, terrible thoughts dragging their talons across the backs of my eyes. I feel sick, though I most certainly am not, I think to myself.

You will forget.

You will forget.

You will forget.

My sheets are damp with sweat. It's been a hot summer, full of days that would have been better spent at a pool or a beach. I hate the sand.

Doomed.

Doomed to forget.

You will forget.

A hot summer packed full of the gloom that Death oh-so-generously leaves in its wake. Two funerals, both for grandparents dear to me. Lives quickly broken down into dust by the silent destruction brought by Alzheimer's.

Unavoidable.

Unpreventable.

Carved in stone.

I know my fate matches theirs. It's in my blood. I can do things to try and extend my time before I become burdened with it, but ultimately it will claim me as well. It will tear little chunks of my life from my hands that clutch them so desperately. It will take away everything I know.

I will forget.

I will forget.

I will forget.

Tick tock, tick tock, the clock marches me towards my death. My body will live longer than I. When I pass, the people I used to love will have already been grasping the hand of my corpse. I will not know who they are. I will not know who they were to me, their names, the way they made me feel. None of the things that matter the most out of absolutely everything will stay.

TW: Mentions of self-harm

CYCLES

i did it again

i took the silver to my skin

dragged until I saw wine spill

do I regret it?

no. But I know someday I will.

these scars I will take to my grave

life will grow

where I once felt dead

sprouts in my heart and soul

i hope worms roam my spine

and beetles crowd my mind

and snakes curl to bind my legs

i wish for deer to graze my field

for foxes to play with my bones

for birds to watch me from their trees

return me to nature

that's all I ask

let the earth grow to know me

Mo(u)rning

I do not intend to sound full of myself when I say this, but I have a fear. I am afraid that I will meet someone. That he will come to know me enough to know he does not want me. He does not want who I am, he wants the idea he conjured of my person in his mind before he knew me. That the teeth corrected in my teen years are the only thing pretty about my smile. That when he stares at my eyes for too long, he can tell that my right pupil is larger than the left. One morning he will wake up and see my bed head, smell my breath, feel the sweat on my skin if it was a warmer night, and he will not want me anymore. He will realize he has lost view of what he initially sought in a partner, and walk out of whatever we had. I fear the loss of someone dear to me like that. The loss of inside jokes, late nights spent talking about things we both forget by morning. The loss of that. Of what makes a relationship worth more than most.

Wings

Amid the cries of a fallen angel

There echoes the sound of a mourning mother

She begs for an end at the feet of the reaper

And exists the same as all the days before

She weeps, she screams

For her child has changed

But maybe for the better

Without warning came trumpets and banners that flew

“I’m different!” The angel shouted

Thinking this was the answer

The solver of problems, of worries and woes

Mother and father

They disagreed

They held their ears

Begged for an end

Squinted and questioned

“Who are you again?”

The angel, they whimpered, confused and afraid

Were these not their parents?

The people who taught, cared, and loved?

This woman and man, who were they if not?

Retreating on wings to their haven, safe at last

Confined and understood at least they had that

The people who talked, worried and helped

This was their family, without even a doubt

Thunder, lightning, questions, it rained

The mother and father they asked again and again

Without satisfaction they took the angel’s wings

Convinced without flight everything was explained

“A feeling!” The angel cried, “a thought in my head!”

“These people I’ve talked to, they heard what I said!”

“Understanding, relation, they know how I’ve felt!”

“They helped when I thought I couldn’t be helped!”

Silence, not one single word

The mother fret, the father read

Desperately turning thoughts through their heads

How could it be?

Our angel so sweet?

Trapped with the mind of a demon so mean?

“You’re lying,” they announced, matter of fact

“This isn’t the truth, this author proves that”

Papers and words and books and things

Page after page to justify disbelief

Not knowing who’s thoughts were whose

The angel now doubted the melodies they blew

“Did I lie?” They thought, “was I too hasty to speak?”

“Should I have waited more days or more weeks?”

The angel now mourned, hiding again

Bloodied and torn flesh on their back, wings lost to the wind

A feather in hand, a tattered lifeline

A beacon of hope in the dark of the nights

Plotting for futures that came and went

“Should I keep going like this? Can I reach the end?”

The feather, it twisted and turned

Their clammy grip kept it tight

Reluctant to lose more but too weak to fight

TW: Mentions of self-harm and suicide

The Parking Garage 2 Blocks Away

It's pleasant to finally relax. To let my bones free and my muscles loose. All of me painting the concrete where I've laid myself to rest a vivid red. My blood will soon mingle with the rain that makes its brief trip through this watershed.

The impact was brief, the initial step off being the most terrifying part of the whole ordeal.

I'd just like to apologize.

I'm sorry to the city workers who will have to clean me off the sidewalk.

I’m sorry to the police who will spend time on this rather boring case.

I'm sorry to the journalists who will inevitably write of this and all its horror.

I'm sorry to my teachers who have spent money and time and knowledge on me.

I'm sorry to my family because so much was wasted on me just for it to amount to this.

I'm sorry to my friends because society told me I have to be even when nobody listens.

I'm sorry to my pets because they will have to count on the unreliable and unpracticed.

I'm sorry to my brother for leaving him alone in that house.

I'm sorry to my boyfriend who knew everything and still loved everything but i didn’t tell him about this. The promise was never empty, I’ll find you again after this like I promised. I swear.

I'm sorry to everyone I ever have and ever would love.

A poet falls in love with a singer

Listen to me, 3200 years ago, Patroclus

Plucked figs, ripe and bleeding juice,

Just for the blond haired boy who

Laughed with him. They sat on beaches,

Drank in sunlight as if it was life

Itself. They spoke to each other like equals

And had private races simply for their

Own amusement. The water reflected

In its waves just how happy they were.

Listen still. Even longer ago, furious Zeus

Sent his golden lightning down to us,

Striking the pairs that roamed the earth

As one. He scattered them, each now

Only half of the soul they used to be,

Left to seek out their other half, knowing

Nothing of how they looked or behaved;

Only that their laugh was the most

Beautiful. You say my name and I want

To melt into you like beeswax, vibrant and bright

With natural joy. I want to give parts of myself to

You, until you feel as if you are one whole

Soul again. You don’t like my poetry

As much as I want you to, but the thing is,

I would love you even if you hated me.

If the universe collapsed in on itself right

Now, and our small world came to its

End, I would be content lying in bed with

you, our legs tangled beneath the sheets,

Our warm breath mingling in a quiet conversation

That only we will ever have. The world

Will get cold around everyone towards the

End. Our air deprived of oxygen and

Heat as the Sun is swallowed. Humanity

Will feel winter like never before, the

Winters we get with the changing climate

Will not rival the end of time and space.

What I’m trying to tell you is, if you’re ready,

I want to make you shiver like that.

With lines from “History Student Falls in Love With Astrophysics Student” by Keaton St. James

**I saw the mentioned poem this morning and I physically couldn’t stop myself from opening my notes app. I just started running. The pacing and format is just so gorgeous and I wanted to emulate the theme with my own words. I will DEFINITELY be reading some more of Keaton’s stuff in the future because oh my god.**

breakups are cool because now everything that I make with the hands he held and kissed will be about him and everything I say and sing will be done with the lips he worshipped and the lungs he thanked for keeping me alive

Hey

This post will be ***Temporarily*** be pinned, replacing my about me post.

so my (now ex) boyfriend broke up with me OVER TEXT on the 2nd of August, claiming he has poor mental health (been known buddy) and that it would be good for the both of us to not be together because he "can't be the best boyfriend" to me in his current state and that I deserve better. Will be accepting any opinions in reblogs or comments on that whole thing. However! I came on here to share the letter I'm writing him before I officially stop putting in my now usual amount of effort into keeping any kind of relationship alive. Be warned, it's quite the tome.

Here ya go:

You’ve evidently come to the conclusion that you’re “ready”, however you interpreted the word. Or maybe you just opened this because you felt like it. Or it’s been a long time since I gave this to you. Maybe you were feeling nostalgic, as you’ve received more personal letters from me than really any modern person normally does. Or we’re together and I pressure you to; or you do so of your own will. Perhaps some other, unlisted reason. Maybe you never open this; and I’m writing all these words for only the universe to see. At the end of the day, speculation only goes so far, and none of it really matters because I’m going to say the things I want to say anyway. The stuff I never said out loud, because I knew - and you told me - that you weren’t ready. And eventually I realized you might never be ready.

I’m not going to try to be poetic or anything, so I’m sorry if you enjoyed that aspect of my past letters. This is just going to be me. I’m going to say thoughts and feelings and facts and everything of that sort because this may very well be my only and last opportunity.

I’d like to start with some apologies, you deserve them.

I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. Even if you won’t admit it, it’s true.

I’m sorry I couldn't be there for you those 3 years. The 3 years before me that you told me you’ve felt empty through and ever since; like there was a void somewhere inside of you that I couldn’t fill as much as you wanted or needed me to.

I’m sorry you feel you have to do this alone. I know you won’t seek professional help, you’re prideful and strong and stubborn. Even when it hurts you.

I’m sorry that you feel the need to put on a mask of happiness. That destroys a person. I know how it is. I did it for two years. I’m still working on it to this day, especially now.

I hope you accept them. If not for yourself, then for me. Or at the very least for the sake of remembering and learning from us.

To start with the main body of this letter, I’d like to preface with a recognition that maybe you think this is overstepping some boundaries. In that case, I’m sorry. Truly. But, I can’t say nothing. It’s not in my nature to let words as important as these sit dormant forever, bubbling over into the nights of the future as tears. I want this to give me some closure, and maybe you’ll get some too.

I’m not perfect at communicating by any means. I try my best, and it’s either enough, or it isn’t. And I know you’re not perfect at communicating either. You have trouble expressing a lot of things and mustering up the courage to talk about them, and I have trouble saying the important stuff out loud. This letter, for example, which by the way, I’m sorry isn’t handwritten. It’s just much easier to organize thoughts here and make changes. Case in point.

Anyway, I think that’s part of the reason you decided that breaking up was the answer. You had been sitting on that text - or at least idea of a breakup - for some time. It was obvious. I’m not dumb. But I also don’t know a lot of things. Maybe I would’ve drafted that same message in your position. Still, I maintain that I don’t believe pushing someone away - who has continuously expressed want and interest in helping your mental health - was the solution. But I’m not you and I don’t control you. We were and still are equals, both human, and that means a breakup is a breakup, an end is an end, no matter how much I hate it. As much as I wish we had talked more before coming to an end, I understand that to you it might have been something inevitable (I’ll touch more on “inevitable” later). Perhaps that is part of the reason, however small, you were so firm on your decision. I’ll never entirely know or understand what brought you to your conclusion. I can only speculate about what I did or didn’t do, what I could’ve done to change this future because it currently doesn’t contain quite enough of you.

The - probably obvious - truth is, I miss you terribly, and I promise I’ll only use a bit of this letter to wallow in my longing. You were the light, as horribly cliché as that sounds. Merely thinking of your smile can bring me to the verge of tears. I catch a glimpse of faceless hair that only resembles yours, my heart stutters and suddenly I’m clasping my hands together, begging any Gods that will listen. Heads turn in this temple as my knees bleed onto the stone, words leaving my mouth faster than the blood can find its path through the crevices. Not one worshiper listens or understands. Those familiar rich brown curls turn a corner and I’m lost again, standing among people who might never know anything like what we had.

As guilty as I feel, I know time will move steadily forward, and all this passion may or may not fade. But for the time being, I have learned from this pain; it takes a lot of energy to understand that things are often more beautiful when you know you can’t have them.

I can’t count on my hands the number of times I have lamented to a close friend just how much I miss being able to watch you. How desperately I want to be able to just look at you freely and trace the lines of your face with my gaze again. I keep the moments I treasure and miss most to myself though. Like the thought of dragging my finger down the bridge of your nose as we lay together quietly. I dream of brushing my thumbs over your cheeks and pulling you towards me for one last kiss goodnight through the car window again.

I wish I had made you stay in that car longer. Begged you to sit with me for even just five more minutes. I wish I had mustered the patience I know I am capable of, instead of demanding a change I know is difficult. Maybe if those moments had moved slower, I could have saved us.

We are (were?) teens. I recognize, maybe don’t fully understand, that you might not have wanted something as serious, committed, adult, as I did. My parents raised me intentionally or unintentionally to believe that romance is reserved for adults. I didn’t plan or even think of having a boyfriend in high school, perhaps not even in college. But then there was you.

At first I just wanted to be friends with you. To share memories and talk and play games. That’s it. At some point that changed. I don’t know when; I don’t know exactly why. I just know one day I woke up and wished you were there too; Peaceful and warm, morning breath and all. I wanted to do with you what spring does with the new blossoms.

You couldn’t know this of course. What if you didn’t like me like that? What if it made you hate me? And if by some miracle, you liked me of all people back, what would happen then? I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t, and I still can’t, wrap my head around the fact that someone, much less you, would ever want to kiss me or hold my hand or even be associated with me. It still takes my breath away thinking of the first time you kissed me. However small and quick and inconsequential it was, I would have been happy with that being my last first kiss. I won’t be in history books, but if I am, I hope they say you were the first one to love me. As long as they get that right, I don’t care what else they say.

I do know I was mean sometimes, and I hope you know it was only playfully, in an affectionate kind of way. I could talk to you for hours and never get tired of your voice, your laugh. And I could never get tired of seeing you smile. I don’t think I could ever get tired of you, not at all, and I believe that still holds true. Around you, at times, I was also sad and overwhelmed and everything in between and all the better feelings. And you were there for me. You stayed with me; helping and hugging me all while standing in the shadow of your own emotion. You’re strong like that, in an irresponsible and dangerous way, but strong nonetheless. In my past I probably would have admired your walls, your defenses. But I’ve forced myself to acknowledge, and try to understand, that nothing good comes from shoving clutter under the bed and calling your bedroom clean.

Putting aside the aforementioned first kiss, you could’ve just wanted a fling. I don’t know. I likely never will. And I’m sorry if I was crazy or overbearing. We are (were?) just teenagers. The movies say that high school sweethearts don’t last. But I foolishly thought otherwise. I threw myself into our relationship carelessly, letting my guard down because I finally felt secure in some capacity. Not only about myself, but about my potential future. I recognize maybe I feel, and therefore love, a bit too deeply for our age, and perhaps that scared you away. We are (were?) (Are you getting sick of that uncertainty yet?) teenagers and I accept the fact that we have differences in how we experience life and more specifically, love.

You’ll get through this without me. You’re not completely alone, and you know that even if you won’t admit it. Every day, you’re pushing me further away, and even though every bone in my body wants to follow you and grab your arm and pull you back towards me… I don’t. I resist the best I can. I’ll stay right here. Right where you know I’ll be. Working on my patience and hoping that at some point I might see your smile again instead of your back. What I’m trying to say is that I’ll be here for you. Because I know you want to change. And I know that you are capable of becoming who you want to be. Someday maybe you’ll feel brave or you’ll (unnecessarily, because you were and always will be good to me) deem yourself good enough and you’ll be able to summon even more of that strength and courage to reach out. Don’t be afraid. You taught me that some fear is unwarranted.

You said you need help, and as much as I want you to seek it, I know you probably won’t. You’ll let your emotions fester until something like this happens again, and then maybe you’ll learn that recognizing and letting some thoughts and feelings out, even if it’s just a small amount, helps. Cry. Scream. Destroy something. Those are better than nothing. You said that you need help and I believe you do, I just don’t believe you’ll act on that, and a part of me wants to hate you for it. I won’t let that part of me infect the memories of you though, I can’t do that to myself. So you can break that promise - if you want to call it that - and I’ll hold my hands over the ears of my heart so that it doesn’t hate you.

I need you to know that I am grateful for your time in my life, however brief that may be. It was invaluable, and I know I’ll spend the rest of my time on Earth seeking something that even rivals what we had. You have taught me incredible things about myself, life, love, and the world. These uncertain days will pass, you and I could become nothing or something. I have no way of knowing. I do know that your chapter of my life will always be dogeared, as it will most certainly be my favorite for a long time.

However far into the future we have moved between the time I gave this to you and now, when you are reading it, - perhaps we have grown apart, or perhaps we couldn’t possibly be closer - I want you to know that I have, and always will, wait for you. What we had might be forever unmatched. It’s not often you stumble upon someone you have so much in common with. So like I said, I’ll wait for you. Even if you just want to be friends again. The kind that FaceTime in silence just to know they’re not alone. Or the kind that do everything together. Or the kind that share fears and trauma and everything that makes life wonderful. Or the kind that get together once every few months just to laugh. Call me, because I’ll wait for you. I still care for you at this moment, and I probably will forever to some extent. To be clear, this isn’t me telling you to do anything. It’s me saying that if you want to, I won’t stop you. My pets and friends will hear me cry on my bedroom floor, but they won’t hear me ask you to come back. It’s not fair at all for me to ask that of you.

I'll start to wrap it up here. For now, this is the most closure I believe I will get; An envelope containing barely a cup from a sea of thoughts and emotion. I think there are beautiful things waiting for you. You just have to be looking for them. And amid the beautiful parts of your future, if you find an old picture of us, and clear away the dust, I hope you miss me at least a little. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s human. Perhaps we would’ve worked out in another universe.

As I write this letter - which has consumed several days - I’ve slowly but surely begun to accept the fact that you might never greet me again, or text me asking to FaceTime, or smile my way briefly in passing. In this new reality, I find the only direction to move is forward, and I can’t do that until I accept this fate. I hope that acceptance will come soon because the pain of not knowing you is unbearable. All of this will fade slowly and ache like a wound. As macabre as this metaphor is, I hope you leave a scar because its story would be the loveliest of them all.

Every choice is the right one, remember that. All of them will lead you to the future you’re meant to have, the people you’re meant to love, the lessons you’re meant to learn, and the ways you’re meant to change. To be loved, is to be changed after all. I hope that void gets filled by something or someone. I hope you smile a lot, and find the people and things and love that make life worth living. Above all, I hope you’re happy wherever all that may be.

My last act of love will be letting you go.

That's it! Names were excluded obviously. Let me know if there's any changes, major or minor, to be made. Any and all feedback accepted. Please don't invalidate or disregard my emotions and feelings simply because I'm a teenager. I know what being in love is like. The fact that we are both under 18 doesn't mean that we are incapable of feeling deeply, just as I state in the letter. Every day I wake up and miss him and I can't imagine us being with anyone else and I wonder if I'll feel this way for the rest of my life. I think that's about as in love as in love can be, and us being under 18 doesn't render that meaningless.

I am still unsure if this will be given to him. I have been advised by irl best friend to not do it but she also acknowledged that ultimately it is my choice so I’d like to get some more opinions if people are up to it. Hopefully a consensus is reached soon? Or is that too much to ask?