melophileshrnistuff
The days blended into a blurred, predictable loop that felt less, and less like living. Every morning started with the same annoying ring of the school bell, followed by hours of floating through crowded hallways where I was present but entirely invisible. At three o'clock, I would walk back home, kick a few rocks on the way while listening to my chemical romance on loop-until I stood infront of my doorstep for a second, the porch dimly lit, a rocking chair full of drying laundry and a book, then the door leading to that place where the quiet, careful kindness of my new guardians always felt a bit too delicate-like a sheet of thin glass I was terrified of shattering-so I mostly retreated to the safety of my bedroom walls until darkness fell. And every single night, without fail, I ended up at the neighborhood park, sitting on the cold metal slide, staring at the exact same cracked pavement under the buzzing streetlamp, waiting for the heavy midnight silence to finally numb the lingering noise in my head. By Sunday night, the routine had become exhausting-the same walk, the same chill, the same empty swings..But wait, I only thought that last part, until I looked up from my shoes and realized one of the swings across from me weren't empty anymore..