If I told someone how sad I am I would have to face my problem. But my defining characteristic is that I’m so anxious about my problems that I purposely avoid them in a crippling, paralyzing effect. It’s ironic to be so anxious to do better yet all I can muster is to lie in bed and wonder how long it would take to die. I am consciously ruining myself for no reason except for the fact that I don’t know how to cope with being sad.
You were so happy dancing in the pool. My feet on your feet, a weightless symphony of silly slow dancing in the blanket of warm water. I was happy too. But I held your torso tight and pressed my face against your chest to cry because it was the moment I realized that I can’t save you from your demons and I so desperately want to cling to every single purely good moment. Something is coming, rumbling in the distance. Nothing this good will last forever, but I will wait for you anyways.
We loved in the purest way at some point but I remember the day I crossed the threshold to the other side. The first time I cursed at you. The first time I wished evil on you. The first time I prayed not for us to be together but for us to never have met. I think right now I’m not even sure if I love or hate you more. I can feel both reverberating in my chest at the same time.