It's been a cold, cold month.
Even though outside is smelling of spring and more spring, I didn't get to see it. All I got to see was the inside of my own room. And that was my fault, I accept it. It was me after all, that tried to slash my wrists until suddenly I chickened out and had an anxiety attack and slipped on the overflowing bath water. Somehow, when I slipped, so did that knife.
They think I tried to kill myself and they are wrong. If I'd wanted to I wouldn't even be writing this right now. Death is too scary and unpredictable and probably even a greater mystery than Him. That's why I couldn't do it. I thought I had thought of it all but now I realize that I had not. I started wondering what the fuck would happen once I died. Fuck my theory about moving towards the next life. I don't know. Do I even know anything? God.
Anyways, no one can look me in the eye anymore. They're afraid of me, not the way I was of him but the way you are of a wounded animal. They don't know how to handle me. They don't and I don't blame them because I dont know how to handle myself either. But I have decided to change my room completely. All of it. No more dusty rose colored walls, that was so junior year either ways. It'll be yellow like the sun and like a lemon and like things that are carefree and nice to us.
YOU ARE READING
dreamland
Roman pour Adolescentsabout a girl trying to move on from the past, only to find that the past can move too. all artwork by namalas.
