Monday, April 1

Elm St.

I’ve realized many things in the past—and upon discovery, threw them in a box, never considering to uncover their details. Tonight one such realization occurred to me, ancient yet important. The one of my happiness—or whatever closest to it I can attain—disappearing for no good reason when in the mode of ‘crush’. I fall apart only because I am undoing the seams and lose my voice because I thrown all my dongs into the sea. All of this is in my hands. The hopelessness of it torturing me then, and partially now, can die through the hands of its possessor. I am the girl who killed the dream and replaced it with a nightmare. I sleep now to face this.