…
first
twenty-third 🍁
twenty-eighth
LOVE, DEAR ABBY
I will never beg you to stay
When you and I know you’ll just walk away
If no one’s told you yet:
Hi
- abby
🌑: “You said we were your sun and moon. Who’s which?”
✨: “Well, she’s my sun. She brings the light to my life.”
🌒: “Oh, so I just revolve around you?”
✨: “No. You’re there for me even when I can’t see you.”
🌓: “…that’s… wow… …but you know what that makes you?”
✨: “Hmm?”
🌔: “The stars.”
✨: “How so?”
🌕: “You fill the void in between.”
“can we go back to normal?”
considering my normal has been fainting in the shower, not being able to breathe, a heart rate of 190, social avoidance, and feelings of hopelessness,
no. no, we can not go ‘back to normal’.
…
twenty-sixth — I., II., III.
twenty-seventh — IV., V., VI.
twenty-eighth — VII.
twenty-ninth — VIII.
LOVE, DEAR ABBY
the collection
june
july
august
september
october
november
december
“Was none of it real, or was it real and you still left?”
- abby
FRIEND.
I count the days that have gone by,
To remind myself to be proud,
But the longer the voices have been quiet,
Only makes them all the more loud,
It’s not only when I’m awake I’m fighting,
It happens even when asleep,
I wake up, shaking and shouting,
My veins start to burn as I weep.
That burning hot pain in my back,
Damn, my arms and my wrists and my throat,
can’t smother them with hands or scratches,
It takes over and drapes like a coat.
I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong,
‘Is there anyone out there like me?’
But then I remember my friend, my love,
Good old PTSD.
LOVE, DEAR ABBY