You sit down to write a list of all the things you’re greatful for so that you’re ready to say good bye. You’re careful- each reason has to really count. People talk all the time about valuing the little moments, but how many of them can actually articulate what makes them big?
You’re 22 deep when its time to let go. You know you’re not done, but you’ve had enough.
The world is slower now. It heard whispers of your get away plans and now time is spinning a counterplan of its own. You make a list of all your debts. We all owe a certain amount to Time. We all owe a certain amount of pain. We’ll all pay it one way or another. And Subjectivity is Time’s best friend.
I bet you’re missing yours right about now.
You count hours in hope that it will keep your days from blending together. You’re not sure when you last felt hungry, and you don’t remember there being this much grease in your hair a few minutes ago. You make a list of all the moments you’ve let life go wrong.
You’re about to nose dive into eternity. How far into eternity do you think you can get before you lose your mind again?
There are lots of things to think about when the minutes aren’t minutes anymore. They were lying, but it was kind of them. You should have eaten more fruit. That dress wasn’t as pretty as you thought it was. They’re gone. You make a list of all the moments you were wrong about.
Someone told you that you’d be wrong about everything once. Just like you’d be wrong for trying to leave him.
You can’t tell which memories from the last five years are real. You’ve always had an overachieving imagination. Maybe the friendships you’re so attached to haven’t really existed. Maybe the moments you cling to were actually duller than you needed them to be. You make a list of all the terrible things he said you deserved.
Those you know for sure are real. You can read his words whenever you run your hands over the puffy, pink lines in your skin.
The sun doesn’t mean safety. The sun has never protected you from anything. And you’re not certain if the sun is coming or going anymore, but you hope it feels guilty for not saving you. You make a list of the things you’ve shouted at the sky.
You know the universe doesn’t give a fuck, but there are people all over the world looking up, feeling the same way you do. You wish they didn’t.
You can’t tell if the clock across the room is lying to you, but it must be, because everybody lies. You try to do it indirectly so that you can feel good about your dishonesty, but personal hells like the one you’ve built don’t discriminate against people who just choose not to tell the whole truth. You make a list of all the lies you’ve told the people you love.
You tell yourself that you’re paying for every single one so that they don’t have to. But the reality is that they are just as afraid of the truth as you are. Its easy to avoid.
The light in your room is shifting and you can’t find the door anymore. You’ve always felt a little trapped, but you’re getting used to it. If you can’t get out, no one can get in, and that’s the closest thing to safety you have now.You make a list of all the things that were taken away from you.
You count the shadows along your wall. You think there is one more than there was before.
You don’t know how long the shadow in the corner has been there, but you can feel its anger the same way you did the day he was made. He follows you all the time now. He reminds you of your flaws. He grows with your fear, and you’re trying not to feed him as often as you have been. You make a list of all the ways you could have gotten away.
He laughs at your self loathing. You wonder why Time favors dreams laced with monsters.
Theres no distinction from the nightmares you’re plagued with and the reality you’ve created for yourself anymore. The clock ticks. Clothes rip. Skin bleeds. The pressure in your chest is choking you, and the shadow is telling tales of satisfaction. You make a list of all the days you’ve survived.
You don’t know how many days you’ll be able to add to it. You know you’re not done, but you’ve had enough.