erifnosmirc
She's been gone too long, years removed from the flames that used to burn from the tips of her fans. It will take time, dedication, perseverance to relearn tricks of old and master those of new, but one day she will burn again, worthy of the tool that calls to her through their flickers licking the wind.
You watch as everything dear to you crumbles, all but a hollow artifice masquerading as happy relationships, met goals. But this is the world you deluded yourself into seeing in desperate hopes all could be well. The world is not perfect.
There are others out there, people who could potentially be a part of your life should you so choose to extend them a hand. But there's always a risk in forging bonds. Some connections are flimsy. Others only stay strong until a need is met.
You turn in your resignation, and just after that you're gone. You have nothing to do with this life anymore. You're going to move on, regardless how difficult, trying, and painful it promises to be because change doesn't come easy. But there are times when you need to turn to the next page.
She laughed at the thought. Her, spending every waking moment with a significant other, and if not physically, then thinking of them, imagining every curve and contour of their face, wondering what they were doing at that very moment and thinking should I call?
Her olive green eyes gleaned gold under the summer sun. She walked across the sand, ready to sink into the cool waves, and the light danced upon the water, ready to welcome her in.
You have to analyze the social climate to know what's okay and disastrous to do with company. But you've never been good at it, so you always cower inside and hide within crowds, placidly, if not looking glassy, nodding your head in agreement while hoping someone doesn't yet at the same time does notice you in the sea of heads.
You try to navigate the corkscrew of social interactions, but dealing with your feelings and their feelings and trying to prioritize who when just tires you out. You're not graceful. You'll never be a social butterfly.
You wear your apathy like a suit of armor, impenetrable even to the sharpest, keenest emotion. You stand unmoved even though all the laughter, joy, hate, and cruelty make you want to crumple in a mess of bone and limbs and wail for all humanity.
You try to stifle the noise, clap your palms over your ears, but it only creates a cavern that amplifies the sound. You release your hands, but they're still whispers in your head that you can't shake.
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