Breaking bones

“You know the worst thing about life?” and about a million shitty things sprang to mind immediately but I lied and pressed on
“No”, I said
“It’s that you get to love someone too much”
and I promptly broke eye contact.

I don’t hold hate too closely to my heart because it’s a disease and I’m prone to suffer just about every awful thing. Plus, I have a predisposition to heart conditions and the palpitations get worse every month.
Love can be like a disease, too. But it’s one I would choose to suffer in eternally if it meant getting to lay my head on a pillow next to yours every night and bake you your favourite cake every year on your birthday.

I think too much, maybe I’m too old a soul for my own good,
so I am slowly eating myself to death.
It’s starting to show, the scales scream in fits of laughter every time I step on them and the mirror isn’t lying either. By no means do I look round or wide or anything, it’s just that I’m different than before and maybe it’s just I’m getting older,
or maybe it is just that I eat too much and move too little.

Not that I’m getting too much older just quite yet, it’s my twenty-second birthday on Sunday but I feel like I’m twenty-one going on thirty or something. I could just be tired and overwhelmed by the unknown but
I think it’s just I think too much.

I dream larger than my life certainly is and it’s true, maybe I do love someone too much and for no good reason other than I can make a hobby out of self-destruction.

I think I’m a woman of worth but who’s to say?

Well, you said but sometimes you don’t count. I think you could be a little biased, besides you haven’t seen the path I’ve walked and though my body count still stands at a hefty zero it doesn’t mean I haven’t had those prickly, dark thoughts and genuinely considered berating a few people with so many words it cripples them into a cave forevermore.

I’m working on complaining less but people are so ignorant
and, just.plain.RUDE
So it makes me angry. So it makes me wanna turn the world on it’s axis and shake all the bullshit off. So what?

Realistically: I’ve got no real thing to complain about.
Honestly: how dare I moan about minor injustice?
Metaphorically: I’m a drop in the ocean, just another fish in the big blue, another spec in the universe or clump of atoms or whatever.

I’m no real thing, not in comparison to the planets and stars and lack of oxygen out there. Even here on this measly planet I’m nothing compared to all the hopelessly medicated pop stars and God awful politicians.
I don’t live the fast fading life that they do, I’ve never laughed in the limelight. I’ve never been kissed in the rain or told that I am more beautiful than the sunset before me.

It’s a culmination of all the I’ve never’s that result in feelings of insignificance.

That’s okay.



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