I don't know how to explain this feeling. I didn't ask for it. I certainly didn't paint it willingly into the current pallet of my life.
Longing.
It feels like something that kills you from the inside leaving a nasty shell of a person on the outside. It's waiting for someone, something, some place to give you meaning because you can't do it alone anymore.
Longing.
It makes you wish for a new day and to be taken away from the current stream of days that are like grasping at straws in hopes
your experiences will maybe mean something.
Longing.
It is waiting for confirmation by others that you're good enough. That you are a person of worth and love.
Especially love.
Longing.
It feels like the destruction of a person, of which they are waiting for the moment their strings are cut loose, and new strings are drawn that won't be a continual game of losing, a continual game of defeat.
And most of all, a continual game one has not made the choice to play.
YOU ARE READING
little talks
Teen Fiction"You're gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear. all that's left is the ghost of you" - Fiona Marcelo has spent her whole high school career remaining in the shadows, a shell of herself. A quiet reminiscent shell of the person she really is...
