i guess it’s november

i’m by your front door. i’ve knocked five times. and you said you’d be there, but i guess no one’s home anymore.

god, it’s cold. and maybe i’m not good enough. maybe i’ll never be good enough. i don’t know.

but at least the sadness doesn’t pound in like this. instead, it’s just… a numb deadweight in your chest. and it drags you down, and you’re lying on the ground staring up at the sky. but don’t you dare cry–

that’s stupid. i know it is.  the grass is never greener on the other side. but i still can’t help but believe it is. just a little bit.

i’m lying in bed. 11:37p.m. and i can’t help but listen to the endless purr of the dial tone.

because maybe company will distract me from everything else i can’t help but know.

except i’m not stupid. so mostly, i just stare up at the ceiling. watching my past replay in slow-mo. every time i failed, every time i was stupid enough to let it go–

and i can’t help but think that maybe i was just made to be alone.

i’m watching you laugh through one-sided glass. and i can’t even imagine who i’d be. if i knew someone who made me happy like that.

i don’t have someone like that, though.

Something I wrote about a lot of stuff I was feeling last year. (These kind of feeling still affect me, but for the most part, it’s better.) It’s not really something I’m currently struggling with, but… it felt important to write, anyhow. A small homage to the person I used to be, and how far I’ve come, I guess.

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