Let's Be Honest.

Hope wins every time the sun peaks over the horizon after a long dark night, it softens the day and baths the ground, it warms the air and we breath easier and maybe our souls uncurl a little from that protective crouch we've grown used to, maybe we let our limbs loosen, maybe we let hope sink into our skin, maybe we let it melt our misery from within.

The night won't last forever. Wait for the sunrise.

the biggest lesson im learning is that nothing is as extreme or as permanent as our emotions convince us they are. nothing is certain and things are always fluctuating and there are always exceptions and there are always mistakes. there is always pain and there is always love. everything is a delicate touch away from changing

I don't get out bed most days, I barely remember to drink water and my hyper fixations seem to be doing me more harm than good. But I go to get groceries in the late evening hours, as the birds call out to the fading sun. I can't bring myself to go regularly, but I've been in my house for weeks and the birds are singing and the streets are empty and life seems beautiful and fresh when you walk alone just breathing or singing to your self. I walk over the fly over, closer to the branches that reach up and away from here.

I don't let myself look up what my school friends are doing now, I'm afraid. Afraid I'll find pictures of a something I missed. I remember us at 11 crowded around a school library computer, you both looked up your favourite wedding dresses most of them mermaid and lacy white, you picked out our bridesmaids dresses and talked about how we would find a colour that at least looked good on us all; I thought powdered blue. I miss being that young, when the only worries where our homework and hoping we where first out for lunch. Maybe you did get married, maybe if I log in to my socials I'll find an invite. Or maybe time has changed too much, we aren't eleven anymore. I wonder if you picked powdered blue or a mermaid dress in lacy white, I wonder if something remains the same.

I love your writing and I just read your "Dead above" snippet/excerpt and I'm so intrigued and interesting in your plans for it as a whole, is this a snippet of a book your writing or another project.

Thank you! Dead above is the title of the book I'm writing and the post was a snippet from it, I intend to finish the first draft and be on the second by the end of this year and hopefully (fingers crossed) publish it. I have very limited knowledge about how to get published, but at the moment I'm just excited about the writing process. Thankyou for taking an interest, it's very motivating 💛

It's time.. . .. I'll say tomorrow

I'll do it tomorrow I said yesterday I'll do it today I said tomorrow I'll do it yesterday I said today..

I can't think about you for too long, but sometimes you climb out of my Amygdala and I let your face press against my prefronal cortex. Your presence is mostly wrapped in bubbler wrap, hidden in a back room, somewhere near the things I can't talk about and the things I should have. I've quietly closed the door, but it's not locked, I don't think it ever will be, I don't think I want it be. But that room isn't a place I like to visit, it only holds you and the things that shouldn't have happened.

I drag this hope in hand

I pull it along

Shouldering past

all of my mistakes

I hold it up to the sunlight

I call it radience

I don't let go

Having a creative hobby or goal honestly keeps the serotonin present. Keeps me mentally present and reaching for tomorrow.

I'm living on the breadline, in fact I'm so far past the breadline its a dot, its a crumb(couldnt help but add a friend's reference). Most days I don't even know how I'm suppose to pay all these bills, because when I do I'm left with minus the amount it cost for even a week of grocerys, and if you've ever done a weekly shop you release that the end total adds up far too quickly and far too high. So you end up living off porridge, beans and what ever hope you still cling to. But sometimes the hope runs out, so I do this, this being tumblr, or I'll picture the little future aspirations actually happening, maybe I'll write that book or buy those paints, maybe I'll do something other than just this stagnant waiting.

It feels like sitting in a waiting room but your number keeps getting pushed further back, like that scene in beatlejuice, so I sit and I wait. But while I do I hum made up songs, I'll doodle on napkins with the last of my ink, I'll ramble poetry and memories on tumblr. I'll try to remember why I wait.

Even though I'm literally falling through the gutters of society I have this one thing that can't be taken away, that remains mine and for now that's enough, if anything it's the end goal. I'll remind myself to live not just survive.