So it opened up a floodgate.
I remembered. I remembered a lot of the things I started to force myself to forget. It all started with that girl, asking for the due date for another stupid homework assignment. November Fifth ... and the other's due on [check my phone calender, I can't read it it has that event indicator thing around it (fuck me)] November 12th.
The only thing that label's that date:
Anniversary
I stuttered, finished my sentence without confessing about that deep cold that spread through my chest, and tried to forget that forlorn feeling again.
Only, that was the start.
I tried to remember (ah, that was a stupid thing to try and remember, what with you trying to forget it in the first place) why I started getting so numb in highschool. Then I remembered that I had deeper sadness before, coupled with that unabated bliss. I remembered that My Deepest Fear was being left alone, that my mother would die and I'd be here, or I'd be dead and stuck in my ghostly form, unable to move away from the guilt that I had left everyone.
That's probably one of those things that resulted from Dad dying. That and the perpetual need to touch things, to know that things are tangible and just there [even when the decaying body should mean nothing, I need to know].
But that day is coming, swifter than any year has come forward before. Why are the days so short now? [Why am I complaining, it means that those past days were so much longer, so worth it]
That inescapable dip into coldness is so unrelenting. This is so unfair.
I was reading xxxHolic and Tsubasa (the fourteenth volume came out for holic). Holic was pretty bad, but Tsubasa [and I know] was bad. I couldn't read through the 23rd volume until I stood up and just walked around, just filled with that terrible evil feeling that things are so desperately wrong.
Before that, I watched the "This is it" concert footage of Michael Jackson with my mom. A lot of people mentioned that they were sad that such a vivacious man on the screen was so soon destined to die days of those recordings. Michael Jackson was always a million miles away from me. I am sad for the loss of one of the world's few great performers and inspirations, but [honestly] he's always been rather dead to me since that Neverland bit. Not because of the negative press against him; it just marked the time that he stopped being a performer and was more of a... sideshow attraction. Living breathing proof that you can make good music, regardless of current pop trends. And that's that.
See, the problem with writing all this here is that... All this drains out, and I'm left empty again, with that stupid blank apathy that I wished upon myself. And I don't know if that'll change with this one. Can I remember this feeling? that the misery from grief and worry is cleaner and better for myself than nothing? I don't know. I've got to try this time,
but it hurts so fucking much.
The only thing that label's that date:
Anniversary
I stuttered, finished my sentence without confessing about that deep cold that spread through my chest, and tried to forget that forlorn feeling again.
Only, that was the start.
I tried to remember (ah, that was a stupid thing to try and remember, what with you trying to forget it in the first place) why I started getting so numb in highschool. Then I remembered that I had deeper sadness before, coupled with that unabated bliss. I remembered that My Deepest Fear was being left alone, that my mother would die and I'd be here, or I'd be dead and stuck in my ghostly form, unable to move away from the guilt that I had left everyone.
That's probably one of those things that resulted from Dad dying. That and the perpetual need to touch things, to know that things are tangible and just there [even when the decaying body should mean nothing, I need to know].
But that day is coming, swifter than any year has come forward before. Why are the days so short now? [Why am I complaining, it means that those past days were so much longer, so worth it]
That inescapable dip into coldness is so unrelenting. This is so unfair.
I was reading xxxHolic and Tsubasa (the fourteenth volume came out for holic). Holic was pretty bad, but Tsubasa [and I know] was bad. I couldn't read through the 23rd volume until I stood up and just walked around, just filled with that terrible evil feeling that things are so desperately wrong.
Before that, I watched the "This is it" concert footage of Michael Jackson with my mom. A lot of people mentioned that they were sad that such a vivacious man on the screen was so soon destined to die days of those recordings. Michael Jackson was always a million miles away from me. I am sad for the loss of one of the world's few great performers and inspirations, but [honestly] he's always been rather dead to me since that Neverland bit. Not because of the negative press against him; it just marked the time that he stopped being a performer and was more of a... sideshow attraction. Living breathing proof that you can make good music, regardless of current pop trends. And that's that.
See, the problem with writing all this here is that... All this drains out, and I'm left empty again, with that stupid blank apathy that I wished upon myself. And I don't know if that'll change with this one. Can I remember this feeling? that the misery from grief and worry is cleaner and better for myself than nothing? I don't know. I've got to try this time,
but it hurts so fucking much.