self titled.

we're going home

song: taxi cab

so the hearse ran out of gas, a passenger person grabbed a map
and the driver inside it contrived a new route to save the past
and checked his watch and grabbed a cab, a beautifully plain taxi cab

trigger warnings// suicide

a/n: this is just copied and pasted from a book I published awhile back but I took down, so those who remember it kudos to you guys

+/\+

You looked at me.

And not with the eyes that displayed pity or disgust. They were eyes that showed so much more. They were eyes that gave love. A feeling that had never come to mind.

You smiled.

It felt like my heart fluttered at the sight of the written happiness on your lips. Nobody's happy like you. Why are you so happy?

Something flickered.

Nevermind. You're not as happy as I thought. But that's okay. Happiness is overrated anyway. Isn't it?

···

I think the only reason why you smiled at me is because you pity my existence. You pity me because I'm breathing and walking and screaming. Don't you?

You told me a sincere "no." You said that pity is too consuming and if you were to pity me, itd only be because I had a physical wound. Not a mental one. What's that supposed to mean?

You told me that it's okay to be in pain because if I wasnt, there would be something wrong.

Doesn't make it okay though.

···

You had yellow hair like the taxi you were standing by. I told you that I had never seen anybody with yellow hair like that before. You said that being different is cool.

I laughed. Only because i didn't understand why being different could be cool when everybody treats me like an outcast when I am.

The taxi cab abruptly drove away when you and I looked at each other.

···

You and I liked to meet at the oddest of places. Like the CVS, sometimes the gas station. It was amusing because you told me that meeting at different places every time is much more fun than meeting at houses.

I couldn't agree more.

We went to a park. With red, orange, yellow, and even a few green leaves falling. It was spring. Or autumn.

You called it autumn because it sounds more "appealing."

You were a funny guy.

···

One day, when you and I were sitting by the big oak tree in the middle of the park, you told me about the galaxies and stars. You told me about the moon and the sun. You told me about the clouds and the wind.

You described the stars as little eyes that lived far away. You told me stars were so lovely and beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as me.

···

I couldn't describe you as something other than this knot inside my stomach that I hated and loved at the same time. I wanted to dispose of it because of how funny it felt. I wasn't used to it.

But then again, I loved it. I loved it because it was something different. It wasn't something that I'd see everyday. It was something that was you.