so i keep writing really deep stuff in my precalc class for no good reason. i came up w this a little while ago:
Love is many strings. We hold onto it, follow where it leads. Sometimes it tugs at us. Sometimes it unravels us. Sometimes we cling to the unraveling threads.
When I first meet people, I grasp their threads like a lifeline. They are all i have-- all i am. but, slowly, numbly, i let go of each individual strand. i explain away why i shouldnt follow where they lead. "i'm not allowed to date girls anyway" "he likes someone else" or "i cant make them happy". one by one, i let go of each possibility of love until im left with empty hands and empty heart. what i used to so desperately cling to, i dissociate myself from. I let the strings float around me. Looking, watching, never to touch. cold. distilled. unreachable. yet ever needing and wanting and hurting and jelous. I want what ive willingly given up. it makes no sense.
His string still floats in front of me. I stare at it. Im frozen, terrified. his string is woven with pure emotion, sharp and full and strong. grabbing it would be a promise of pain and heatache, but also the possibility of love and emotion. happiness.
watching it is like a punch in the gut and a clenched fist around my heart. yet im too much of a coward to actually do anything about it.
a self fulfilled prophecy.
self torture.
bittersweet agony.
her string trembles and flits in front of me. ive already begun to let go. her string is uncertain and unaware, no promises, but multiple possibilities. possibilities that scare me. it links to other strings and is leaving my hands.
it is disappearing.
it is uncertain.
her string keeps reaching out to me, begging me to take hold. then it shrinks back, out of my reach. then its in my face, begging for attention. so close. then gone again. it is spontaneous, jumping here and there with little care for the world or the people around it. naive. but also very capable of serious harm to itself and me. I nearly held onto it for a time, reaching my string to hers, but then we were cut. it has yet to grow back.
her string is inconsistent.
its stronger than it knows.
his string was confident, but at the same time brittle. desperate. it gave me love and i mirrored it's fluid movements with my own string. while i grew tired, the string splintered and went away. i let it go. it lashed me once before it left, and sealed our fate.
his string is craving.
his string is hungry.
their string was a whisper, as many other strings are to me. like most of the others, it was barely there and nearly always solely from my side. and like the others, i let it go with relief and thankfulness.
their string dissolved.
their string was unaware understanding
yup that was really long whoops
i have a love-hate relationship with metaphors, i think.
YOU ARE READING
Im depressed, srry
Randomdont read if youre prone to grammatical errors, depression, the like. if anyone wants me to mark this as mature i will, but the only thing to be wary of is sad thoughts i was gonna put humor for the genre, to be ironic, but i dont want someone who's...
