Yearned So Hard I Don't Even Know What I Desire Anymore

whatever this is

I’ll drink myself to death inside this prison cell

“sorry i didn’t mean to dump that on you”

brother i would climb the tallest mountains and swim to the deepest depths for you. every time you smile i wonder if anything could be more beautiful and every time you laugh it’s like an orchestra of joy. of course i’ll be here to listen. i love you bro

“there is nothing here please go away”

David Lynch

basically everything i’ve been feeling

Goatsong, Leila Chatti

blehh :P

my dearest friends,

i see the way you choke down your tears when someone asks about you. i see the way your jaw locks when simple words are reminders of things you wish you could forget. i see the way you quiet down when you have something too heavy to speak of. i see the way the tension manifests in fleeting glances, buried heads, and hurried words. i see the ways in which what has happened has followed you.

i’m sorry that it’s like this. i’m sorry i couldn’t have known you sooner. i’m sorry we couldn’t play groundies on the playground during recess with missing teeth, and bruised knees. i’m sorry we couldn’t play outside, dreaming of our own worlds where caterpillars were kings. i’m sorry we couldn’t make fishtail bracelets while talking about things too big for our little hearts to understand. i’m sorry i couldn’t be there when you just needed a friend. i’m sorry i couldn’t be there for you when we were kids, when we felt alone.

i’m sorry i wasn’t there to protect you when those bad things happened, when everyday felt like an extensive nightmare. i’m sorry i wasn’t there to stick up for you, to be there for you. i’m sorry that the people you thought you could trust the most, broke you down until you felt like you were nothing. i wish i could have been there, i wish i could have said something, done something. i wish i could have stuck up for you. i wish i could have stopped it from happening in the first place. i hope i can be here for you now, i hope i can protect you now.

i’m sorry that life has been so cruel to you that you believe you are undeserving of life and all of it’s pleasures. i’m sorry that you were made to believe that you are undeserving of fuel, of peace, of accomplishment, of joy. i’m sorry that simple tasks feel like so, so much more. i’m sorry that you were made to believe that you are anything but miraculously beautiful and worthy. i’m sorry that you can’t see what everyone else does. i really wish you could, and i hope, i KNOW that one day you will.

i know what it’s like to feel alone, unwanted, repulsive, anything but human. i know what it’s like to go to sleep every night wanting to know why. and i also know that the person who makes me laugh just by being authentically themselves, the person who is always the first to ask me what’s wrong, the person who always takes the time to remind me of who i am, the person who thinks of me and sends me silly posts when they do, the person who walks with me through all of MY bullshit, the person who surprises me with treats when they know i’m upset, the person who taps my shoes just to check on me, the person who pulled an all nighter the first time we texted, the person who always awkwardly tries to make me laugh, the person who always takes care of everyone else before themselves, is the LAST person who deserve to live like that.

one day i’ll get around to writing each of you a more personalized letter, but until then, let this post serve you as a reminder. i love you, i am so insanely proud of you, and i KNOW you are good, and you ARE deserving. i want you here, and i want to talk to you always. i’m only just a text message away.

love, your friend chris

One day,

I will have an apartment with one bedroom, decorated with my memories. I will have thrifted furniture, with old pictures and posters from my youth plastered on the walls. I will have a cat, or perhaps a dog, or perhaps both, and I will be with someone I love. I will sit with my lover and share ice cream while watching cheugy reality tv, and our laughter with ring through our home like a symphony of love. We will stay up late talking about nothing, or watching our comfort movies, and we will wake up enveloped in each other (we both prefer sharing the same bed). We will go to work, and talk about our days when we come home. And life will be gentle and quiet.

And if I do not have a lover, I will spend as much time as I can with my friends. I will host sleepovers well into my twenties, and we will laugh and cry, just as we always have. We will get lunch on weekends, and call to vent about our long days. And when I go home, I will not feel the absence of romantic love, but rather the abundance of it platonically.

Either way, I will make a better life for myself. I will have a home without screaming matches, violence, and blackouts. I will be loved in the ways I deserve to be, and I will look back and wonder why I ever considered giving up in the first place.

But I have to mold this life for myself with my bare hands. Peace will not come easily, and I have to be ready to actually work towards the life I desire; but I will make it.

I will make it. I will make it. I will make it.