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i'm not angry anymore. just tired. this is the second time in three days that we've argued, and i am tired. and tomorrow i will wake up more exhausted than i went to sleep.
you whine at the sound of other people talking. you give up at the first sign of failure and cry at the smallest frustration — but your frustration is becoming mine, you wield the ghosts of my suffering even when you do not realise it. and if i am ice, then you are flame. i am cool indifference, a heart made of snow and forgotten trauma. but you feel everything, everything, and burn with it. and when you burn, i have to remind myself who i am just to dodge your wildfire. i put up a wall of ice empty my heart out piece by piece and pretend i feel nothing. but ice — ice melts under flames.
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