Corona Is Spreading Like Butter On Warm Toast. Stay Inside. Dont Spread Butter

ah the sun rose so all my shadows must be banished to

somewhere

else?

i reached out to someone and it didnt go well. Except in reality it really could’ve gone well. I didnt really give myself the space to be rejected- so now here i am back on my own.

It’s like i whispered to someone in a windy tunnel and hoped they heard me.

would you care for a little drop of sky to keep you company on your travels?

now i wanna just sort of finally find someone to talk to- to connect to. It’s just weird being on my own so frequently, aching to be loved and understood, but being terrified of actually connecting to someone. As i told the color green, if you allow yourself to be loved then you also open yourself up to vulnerability. And survivors of ab*** just don’t have that luxury.

often,

i feel like a lost sailor in a vast expanse of ocean. A tiny dot of an entity, in comparison to the hugeness of the sea. At times, waves toss my small dinghy, water pouring over the sides, soaking me to my bone. I lie gasping for air in the face of such great loss and pain.

Other days I can lay against the side of the ship, hand dangling in the water, and allow myself rest. Soft shoals of sand shimmer far beneath the calming ebb of the waves, lulling me to sleep.

Raising my spyglass to my eye provides little to no insight into the future temperament of the sea.

Sometimes I wish i could delve deep into the waves themselves. Find the tides and currents that I would ride to new destinations. No longer confined to my tiny vessel. No longer at the mercy of that next storm.

I wonder if one day life will allow for more control over my direction. My destination.

I wish to navigate this sea with the adeptness not only of sailors, but of the creatures that live inside it. I want to make this chaos known. As familiar as a home.

But for now i am battered helplessly against walls of water. Tossed from moment to moment, clinging onto my ship for dear life. Praying for the next soft day. Constantly at the mercy of the ocean. Lost without a will of my own.

I grow tired of battling for an inch of direction. Maybe one day I will know this sea better.

ah to be famous.

to leave my home to watch people pour out of their own houses and follow behind me.

To be the leader of a procession of my fans, all moving in sync.

None of them smile. They follow along behind me eyes unnaturally wide. People ahead join our procession regardless of if they know me or not. Some try to run away screaming. No one gets very far.

Ah fame. The best way to summon an army... an army who’s purpose is unknown. All we bring is chaos.

oh…

what a horrible thing it is, to be hated by the people supposed to love you.

every year around this time i am shocked that its dark at 5pm and i will continue to be…. its so fucking rude of the sun to leave early bitch YOUR SHIFT ISNT OVER

happiness kind of feels like an effervescent state of being that is endlessly removed from me

i still have hope though I suppose

i am not doing well