photograph [h.s]

xiv

thinking. overthinking.
again. and again.
the same destructive thoughts, the same sad, sad thoughts eating you up alive.

when you finally feel safe, when you finally think you've found a home.
the same sad, sad thoughts that slowly kill you.

no amount of cigarettes can drown them out.
no amount of tears makes them go away.
no boy that gave you a speck of happiness can make your life better again.

what if. what if. what if.

maybe. maybe. maybe.

the world is a fucked up place. i've known that for a while.

it makes you feel like you're too tired to sleep and too sad to cry.

it's like you just want to scream at the top of your lungs and yell and cry and rip everything apart, and just forget every damn thing that made you feel this way.

and it's okay.

it's okay because we are entitled to feel and live and experience things we do as humans.
it's okay.
it's okay to hate the world and want to be alone but also feel the need to be understood and cared for.
it's okay to feel the need to stop existing and hearing and seeing and feeling because that just makes things so much easier. 
it's easier to stop seeing the cruelty the world holds and hearing desperate cries of help and feeling the ache in your heart that just won't go away.

and life is not supposed to be easy. but sometimes, eyes filled with light and lips with words of hope and gentle hands that take away the pain are enough to make life a little better.

i just never though those eyes and lips and hands belonged to you.