it’s getting colder by the minute. as the days wither in my palms. so i pull up the hood of my jacket, shove my hands in my pockets, and run all the way home. if this is your price, i’ll pay it.

because at least i survived. at least i cried and cried and cried, and weathered the storm for just one more night. stockpiled books and candy and costco pens; made a blanket fort in my closet, for when it felt like the world was going to end. and it’s sad, and pathetic, and it shouldn’t have happened but thank god i’m here. out of desperation, or blind hope, or love, or fear…

thank god for panicked phone calls, and for flimsy notebook pages. for flannel shirts and earl grey tea, walks in the forest and mediocre therapy–

i light a fire in my chest, when sky turns black, and the vultures descend. because it happens, sometimes. and it’s not fair, and it’s not all right, but for now, this is how is. i’ll twist my scars, and scrapes, and bruises into little paper butterflies; delicate, and strange. and i’ll protect them, until my dying day.

but when it’s over, i’ll tiptoe gingerly down the hallway. i’ll pull up the bathroom window; let them go, when they’re ready. and watch, as they fly south to somewhere loving, and safe.

i hope i can join them, someday.

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