Everyone Who Reblogs This Before New Years (11:59 PM 12/31/17)

I’m sorry if I seem distant. I’m sorry that I keep apologizing about the little things I do. I’m sorry that sometimes I stumble over my words when I know what I want to say. I’m sorry that you had to order food for me sometimes because I was afraid to speak to the waiter. I’m sorry that I made this situation more awkward than it should have been. I’m sorry that I made whatever we had weird. I’m sorry that we became so close. I’m sorry that I upset you because you couldn’t make me happy anymore. I’m sorry that my mind decided to close itself off to you. I’m sorry that this bottle of pills is the only thing standing between me and happiness.

I’m sorry that I ruined you

Blue and Green for the writing asks (:

Blue: What’s more important to you: characters or plot?

I love making characters, sometimes I get so excited about OC’s that I don’t even think about the plot before I start writing. Still, I try and have some sort of plot. In short, characters are more important to me.

Green: Pencil, typewriter, or computer?

I’m between pencil or computer. I love typing but I also love the freedom of writing. 

I'm going to be happy for you. Even if you go to her. I don't mind. I want to be happy even if you're being happy isn't with me. Because obviously I cannot bring you the same happiness you get when you are with her.

I'll pretend to be glad

You taught me that I should love myself first. That my happiness shouldn’t be rooted in another human. Because human love is doomed to fail from the very start and I should have ran away the first time.

You told me you liked magic, I like magic too. I love the targeted deception, almost like feelings, but with a fire pit inside. Like how your touch is like the trick I pull when I say 'pick a card'. How your breath against my skin is nothing more than an illusionist's touch on their own special segment. You told me you liked magic. Little did I know your favorite trick was the disappearing act.

Now You Don't

After you, I don’t know if I believe in love or I believe in how the idea of having you was more appealing than being alone with myself. Still, I don’t blame you for leaving, who would want to stay to begin with? I dont even like myself.

Do you regret the late nights out? The ache in your chest that you can’t place anymore but know is there from the constant nagging at that one hour of the day? Do you remember the day that they left clearly? Or does the warm escape of the whisky whisk you away? Is it all a faint memory? Or is it like a car wreck? Something you won’t ever forget?

Did you love her or the idea of loving her?

It's so close. But why can't I touch it? My fingers  just barely graze the surface, but they can't hold onto the feeling. I can't keep my eyes shut forever. I want to. I want to grab onto my oblivion and never let it go.

Inside the Artist #1

The day will come when I’m over you. That day may be the same day you realize you love me too. I can’t wait forever but you and your feelings can take their time. Because what was lost for me may return, but not the same as it was before.

Is this flirting or am I thinking too much?

You look at me but see her. You touch my skin, but you feel her. You kiss my lips, but you think that your lips are touching hers. I’m not her. I’m not the perfectly thin girl you used to date. My stomach comes out to play most nights, but you don't know this yet. I’d rather not be picked up and spun around yet you do it anyway. I’m not her. Yet you still call me pretty, attractive, fit. I feel I am none of these things. You look at me, but you see this perfect image of what I wish I was. You look at me and see something I’m just not.

I’m not her