I know you don’t want to be fixed, but I heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that you said you felt broken.
– riese bernard
Whenever I say things like these, through chat usually (of all things) you almost always ignore them and keep talking about other things. Once I wondered if you had actually missed my messages. But no, it’s like that every time.
I thought about stopping but.
You’re used to the world beating a path to your door and maybe you think I’ll always be among them too.
About 9 times out of 10 you don’t want me around but I just never want to not be there when you do. (If that horribly worded statement makes any sense at all.)
Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who would understand me.
The rare moments of openness from you are like cracks in a cloudy sky briefly letting the light through and somehow leaving sunspots behind my eyes and warmth on my skin long after it’s gone.
My companion –
: one that accompanies another : comrade, associate
3 a : one that is closely connected with something similar
4 : a celestial body that appears close to another but that may or may not be associated with it in space
Origin: Middle English compainoun, from Latin com- + pascere, to feed
“I was her corn on bad winters; I wanted to be so much more.”
You must know by now.
I would ask you what keeps you from me. But I think I already know.
All I can really do is wonder. And keep coming around. I’m not so tired.
And… B. is dead.
Not that I’m delusional enough to think I can save you, but I can try.
Do you think of me like this anymore? Do you wonder if I can make the pain go away?
I won’t go down without a fight, I won’t slip away.
“She cried inside because her tears would burn her plastic face with sorrow, and everyone knows doll materials are made only for happiness. And the children played with her, and asked her questions but never waited for an answer. So I tried to tell her I wasn’t a child, I wasn’t a child, I wasn’t a child. But the universe knew better, because deep inside I was.”
– Liana Barcia
What is it you want? I can be as close or as far as you like. I can plan things, and I promise I won’t flake or be late anymore ever again. I can color with you and watch your favorite shows with you. I’ll even let you practice makeup on me. I can read you things. I can be patient when you’re angry. I can take you dancing. I’ll hoodwink a sports car dealer into letting you test-drive your favorite Lamborghini…
But of course I won’t, obviously, since I’m lying on my bed in the dark blogging instead of saying these things to you on the phone, or in your room, or in the passenger seat of your car.
There are never any guarantees, I know. The feeling is continually one of being outside a locked door, calling to be let in.
But I’m not tired.
I am what I hope you want me to be.
Food in the winter.
Sustenance. Assurance. That you are loved and valued and worth sticking around for, and worth the time it takes to see beyond the surface.
I’ll give you as many tomorrows as I can. And I want you to have all the time you need to save the world like you wish. As many tomorrows as you need.
Whether or not you want me in them.