I think about what will happen if no one fights back. I think about a world where no one stands up to injustice.
Winston points at my face. His eyes are a little unfocused, and he has to blink a few times before saying, “I like you. It’s pretty nice you’re not dead.
I wonder if I’m just a punctured shadow of the person I was before.
How did I allow myself to imagine that a supernatural ability to kill things with my skin would suddenly grant me a comprehensive understanding of political science?
Alice dropped her head, because sadness had left hinges in her bones.
This doesn’t happen. People aren’t forgotten like this. Not abandoned like this.
It’s a small reminder, but it lingers, and the more I try to ignore the memory, it multiplies into a monster that can no longer be contained.
I want to be the bird that flies away.
Let go of me,” I scream, but, oh, only in my imagination because my lips are finished working and my heart has just expired and my mind has gone to hell for the day and my eyes my eyes I think they’re bleeding...
His smile is a vat of acid seeping into my skin.
I worry that my sadness will be interpreted as an endorsement of his choices – of his very existence – and in this matter I don’t want to be misunderstood, so I cannot admit that I grieve him, that I care at all for the loss of this monstrous man who raised me. And in the absence of healthy action I remain frozen, a sentient stone in the wake of my father’s death.
Because I feel it. I feel the clicks and the turns and the creaking of a million keys unlocking a million doors in my mind. It’s like I’m finally allowing myself to see what I really think, how I really feel, like I’m discovering my own secrets for the first time.
My mind is a maze of impossibility.
We were killing ourselves by trying to stay alive. The weather, the plants, the animals, and our human survival are all inextricably linked. The natural elements were at war with one another because we abused our ecosystem. Abused our atmosphere. Abused our animals. Abused our fellow man.
Hell, he says, “I’ve finally found hell.
Every day we feel further apart. And sometimes I think the harder I try to hold on, the more she tries to break away.
I exaled a long, shaky breath and looked up at the wall. My mind was at war itself.
And maybe if I can find a way to stop being scared, I’ll actually figure out how to make friends. To be strong. To stop wallowing in my own problems.
Save your stupid for later!
The Sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. The Moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Everyday it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of life. The Moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.