When you are so stuck in sadness, it's sort of magical. Deceptions in all corners of the house, hallways that exude expert sabotage. Start making bad choices, coming to terms with the mystery that is to exist with me. Dividing one humanity in three units of energy.
What big ideas are truly worth pursuing? Closing the matt for renovations, creating new horoscopes out of made up constellations. In this orbit of dark blues, love is dreadful and hurts, because everything breaks and leaves. They try to paint the frames gold but I know, I know better, I know more. I don't need someone to stay, already taking up too much space. This isn't about abandonment, childhood traumas that made me grow up fast, returning, rising to the surface in adult years.
It is fine. I am not a good person. My actions either erased or bringing tears to those who attempted care. But nothing comes from kindness, the graves are all the same regardless. In forty years no one will remember how I let the weeds grow untamed and invade the neighbours water supply. But I do walk by their fences every now and again, the scent invades my memories, twisting itself with her backyard and how her grandfather used to complain about it.
They bring about the smell of death, downsizing from a full drawer in my closet to a corner under my bed, inconspicuously covered with a black tapestry found on a trip to the thrift store. I drown it with caramel perfume, sickly sweet, causing strange dreams. Sitting in the aquarium, it's exhausting to see the same face a million times a day.
I refuse to let myself forget again, being good doesn't get you anything.
YOU ARE READING
Dust
Teen FictionIn Kellin's world the truth is a flimsy thing that's hard to get hold of. Mostly when you have been lying to yourself for years, to the point where you erase all sorts of memories. "Nothing happened", " you are fine", "it's all in your head". And wh...
