Imagine having a thing for biting and a habit of biting yourself (Your lips, fingers, etc). Loki discovers this and encourages it by asking you to bite him whenever you feel the urge to bite yourself (though you rarely do so to him) and even engages in some biting of his own frequently.
Entrarono tre mendicanti.
Cantavano canzoni orribili, i tremendi canti, poi si misero in un angolo del bar e iniziarono a suonare, anzi due suonavano e il terzo stava lì.
E tu perché non suoni?
Perché io ho le chiavi!
I think it was over for me when I realized I was more in love with the memories than I was with the person right in front of me. I was always apologizing for hurting you with my abundance of words, yet I was the one on the floor with blood streaming down my body from your words that felt like knives.
It took a long time for me to stop feeling the familiar pang in my chest when our song came on shuffle, and it took time to have thoughts in my mind that were more worth words on paper than you were. It took the longest to be able to see myself with someone else, see myself without you.
I have admitted to myself that I have been talking about you like you aren’t already gone. I have turned over our past in my palms and looked at all the ugliness and bitter emotions I have been hiding from myself for so long. Maybe it wasn’t always heaven, maybe it was hell. After all, the devil isn’t always red with a pitchfork; sometimes the devil has brown hair and blue eyes that are easy to get lost in, which is exactly what I did.
Well, I am finding myself again. I scraped myself clean and now I’m rebuilding myself from the ground up. I will get the urge to call you and say, “Look at me now, I have changed, I’m new”, but I never do because I know better than to let myself get caught in your orbit again. My self-love is stronger than my urge.
Sometimes, no matter how hard you work for it, people just don’t fit together. I may die for you, but I won’t live for you.
I have this large overwhelming urge to do or create something that matters. It can only be described as a longing to exist as more than myself. Humans lives are the creation of million upon millions of synapses. They are formed by electric currents that are dictated only by the smallest imaginable particles. When you dissect what it means to be human all you get is positively charged ions and the laws that require them to transverse boundaries for uninhabited space. This is the only tool to reconcile my yearning for significance and there remain infinite moments to conceive such things. So why, every time I try, do those tiny particles bring me back to you?