Sabotage , my gentle expression. Roars .
Sometimes I wonder if you would prefer me weak—would the world be easier if we were all coming from places of defeat, of weakness and desperation for each other?
Some of us ignore all the voices. We’re depressed.
Some of us change the voices. We’re going through an identity crisis.
I’m going to let you into a secret.
We’re all crazy.
Some of us do exactly what the voices tell us to do. We’re normal until we do something bad. Then we’re really crazy.
Becoming annoyed with me.
Don’t be so sure of yourself next time you think you have it all figured out. You think you know the situation, you think you have lived it. You were there as much as levity would allow. You don’t know how it feels to be me. I want to kiss the breath of life back into you.
What if words were no longer there?
I’ll always be the girl who called you without hesitation—the one who drove herself on a rickety scooter up hills, fighting monsters and dragons to end, finally, in your bed. I’ll be the girl who woke up early to put her clothes back on, fix her hair, and say goodbye to start a more productive day. I’ll be she who sets alarms, she who loves on her own time, she who says “good-bye” as easily as “hello” and whose story you never quite understood completely, because she never let you understand, or because you never had to.