THIS IS NOT A FANFIC‼️
❝you're my best friend, you've always been the good guy that's what everyone loves about you." I remind him, "there's nothing wrong with that."
"You think I'm good?" He asks pressing me up against the wall, I nod in response a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
July 3rd 2038
I think everyone forgot my birthday.
It's tomorrow and I know it's ridiculous to assume so but I could already tell. And perhaps if it were any other birthday this would've been acceptable but considering it was my 18th I guess that perhaps it made me a little upset. These were the final hours I would spend not being an adult, my final moments before being tossed firsthand into the sea of responsibility and longing for what once was. Sometimes I fear that perhaps I spent my entire life being a grown up, I was born pure anticipation, with dread brewing in the pit of my stomach, it was almost as if I had always known what was to come and I had been subconsciously preparing myself for it ever since.
My mother would always make such a big deal about my birthdays, making every effort to make sure that I felt like the most important and adored person on planet earth. She was like that, Nasilele Sitali, she was the type of person who wanted to make everyone feel seen and heard, sometimes I wondered if that was because there was a time she never felt that way.
There exists something cruel, Something one may even deem me a fool For merely observing- A theory that keeps the moral compass turning. That love and haunting are one and the same. Mirrored in character but different in name. Both lurk in shadows and are tempted by the dark, Both obsessive and ravenous craving a spark, They feed off emptiness and promise a thrill, Yet whisper while you sleep to kill kill kill. I have loved and haunted, Whispered and taunted, For death by passion is the sweetest damnation, Isn't burning for another the most theatrical cremation? Or perhaps the greatest punishment is to haunt an empty home Of people who don't believe in ghosts, And will deny your existence the most.
