DESPAIR CALLS FOR A GODDESS.
Impulsive things, Impulsive thoughts, Impulsive ideas. Whatever am I talking about. I don't typically feel safe talking about this, especially as I'm afraid it will be weaponised against me.
I guess, I'm just missing the roses I used to water, the thorns that once hurt me.
I don't know why I do. I cannot bring myself to say hi to you, Radiant Sun. but I hope you'll accept my calling regardless.
I've been having weird thoughts lately, I don't know why I'm missing you. I guess it's the numbness, I guess it's the humanity wanting to return to some sort of high, I guess, I'm just a person of self sabotage — and I doubt you'll ever see this, maybe you will, hi, if you do. I don't think we should return to eachother, for both of our sakes.
I've been overcome with the desire to be used again, it seems. It's weird, I don't know why I feel comfortable in the world of being babied, I guess I'm just numb. I don't know why I wish to return to the hands that've hurt me, I guess I'm just numb. I don't know why I wish to relive the promises that'll leave me empty, I guess I'm just numb.
I guess I'm just numb.
It took me awhile to know if I wanted to put this out to the world. At first — I'm scared that it'll get used against me, even if these thoughts are of less than the usual self, but — I guess it's better than to pursue it, anything is better, than reliving it, I feel.
Whatever, Whatever am I saying, Whatever am I thinking. It's funny, isn't it? I'm thinking of returning to one of the people who hurt me most because I just can't bear it anymore. It's funny, I hope it's funny.
I feel awful knowing there's a part of me wanting to return, I feel awful knowing I find comfort in drawing childlike doodles of you and I, that I find happiness in your presence. I don't know what it is, I'll never know what it is.
I feel awful knowing I'm remembering these times, misty eyed and wishing — with a less healthy mind — to return. I feel awful knowing I'm missing the thorns that've pierced me, I feel awful knowing I'm missing the roses that I've watered. The roses I kept avoiding yet returning to, The roses I found close to where my heart would be — if you were to cut me open and rearrange my organs.
I don't want to feel home, I don't want to feel home when I least expect it, I don't even know if I want to return to the house that burned down.
Tears are welling up, My eyes are burning, My brain is pulsing. I think I'll continue to wander, It'll be better if I continued to wander.
Goodnight, Radiant Sun. I'll write my daily check in sometime.