It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.”
It’s not that I don’t love you. (via jaguarz)
It’s like I never want to leave my parents’ side. I’m not needy for attention nor do I need to depend on them, but I just don’t want to miss a thing. They are so worn out and tired all the time. I feel so guilty when I experience a bit of fun without them, as they repeatedly say that they want the best for me and that they’ve had their fun. I feel as though they are just waiting for the curtains to close, like a countdown to when all of this worry, sadness, and nightmare will end.
My brother pointed out my mother’s gray hairs and told her that he never knew she had so many. I’ve noticed for about a year now, and I just don’t understand how someone can go on with their lives without checking in on or spending a little quality time with a loved one to even notice these small changes.
All I want to do is alleviate their aching. I want to feel the pain all at once, eliminating all the worries and misery so that they can have a moment of peace. I don’t know what to do and how to make it better. I feel so sad to see them like this. It makes me wonder how life was like for them before they had this life. It’s so sad to be conscious of the fact that I’ve never seen them laugh so hard that their stomach hurt, talking with passion in their eyes, falling in and feeling love, or running into the horizon, carefree and hair everywhere. Maybe I have slight memories of so, maybe these bad times have masked the good.
I can’t stop time and it’s so disheartening. I can’t imagine a day without them because now I feel as though it is my turn to care for them. I worry and worry about their well-being, whereabouts, etc. I no longer want to be their responsibility. I’m so determined to make the lives of their dream come true, but how is it possible when the clock keeps ticking, reminding me of the dwindling days left of the life they’re suppose to love and enjoy?
Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain
"Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. ",
Says the Wizard Oz to the Ruby Slippered girl.
The man behind the curtain: a metaphor
For the things that you want to hide from view,
So no one will see.
But even in a gentle breeze,
some things slip through, noticed—
especially by the person who did the hiding,
the discovery of those
Does it make me a bad person?
That I’m hiding things?
I think that both you and I have things to hide.
Sometimes things are smaller and easier to be hidden behind a billowing curtain;
others, bulky and difficult to manage.
Sometimes they are difficult to deal with:
A 100 piece from ikea without instructions,
leaving us flustered and confused and left with only the option of stashing it until we have some more time to think about it;
Our parents, our sexuality, our math homework,
too complicated for the moment;
too busy to understand.
"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain",
says the Wonderful Wizard of Oz to Dorthy,
It’s a thing that he hasn’t had the time to figure out yet.
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