She Knows Not
Emotional cutting. Doing something which will make her feel bad, but doing it anyways. Her fingers, poised about the keyboard, the blank white space of the address bar, little black line blinking.
Blinking, blinking, blinking.
She types in the name, hidden in her mind like an unspoken mantra, the place she vows never to visit again but goes anyways. She knows she is welcome there, she is not intruding, but the place, it makes her feel so... inadequate. Reading their thoughts, comparing them to her own.
Why the fuck do people have to be depressed to be great?
Why does her own thoughts resemble that of an immature imbecile when theirs speak volumes and characters about life? More importantly, why does she keep on going back to them?
"Do you know, sometimes it's so much easier to let them steal you and change you? To just let them see what they want to see and play it from there. Fuck who you are. Be who they think you are," she says and she smiles and she clicks the 'X' of the window.
For an instant, she understands how it feels like to abuse someone out of sheer frustration and then realize what she had done. And apologize and apologize and kiss the top of their heads and whisper into their ear, but it will never erase that wince, that look of apprehension, fiercely burnt into her mind. She understands how some husbands coo, 'I'll never do it again. I was angry. I'm sorry.' And it frightens her to connect herself with that.
Blinking, blinking, blinking.
She types in the name, hidden in her mind like an unspoken mantra, the place she vows never to visit again but goes anyways. She knows she is welcome there, she is not intruding, but the place, it makes her feel so... inadequate. Reading their thoughts, comparing them to her own.
Why the fuck do people have to be depressed to be great?
Why does her own thoughts resemble that of an immature imbecile when theirs speak volumes and characters about life? More importantly, why does she keep on going back to them?
"Do you know, sometimes it's so much easier to let them steal you and change you? To just let them see what they want to see and play it from there. Fuck who you are. Be who they think you are," she says and she smiles and she clicks the 'X' of the window.
For an instant, she understands how it feels like to abuse someone out of sheer frustration and then realize what she had done. And apologize and apologize and kiss the top of their heads and whisper into their ear, but it will never erase that wince, that look of apprehension, fiercely burnt into her mind. She understands how some husbands coo, 'I'll never do it again. I was angry. I'm sorry.' And it frightens her to connect herself with that.
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