posted 2 months ago with 1 note
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posted 2 months ago with
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posted 2 months ago with
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posted 2 months ago with 1 note
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You Just Stop.

Her laugh likes to fill the echoes of the hallway and chase the dust into every spare corner in every room, and each time she laughs, you think that the weight of the world has been lifted and her sadness might finally be over after all these years.. but then she laughs and her laugh is interrupted by a hiccup, a short cry of some sort as she quickly cups her mouth and her face sort of twists and turns and contorts in a way that makes it look like she’s about to cry. And then you realize her laugh was just forced but she’s perfected this force, this perfection of facade so delicately well that you can’t even tell, anymore. 

It becomes rather disgusting, near repetitive and daunting, to write about the people you have loved, the ones that have left you hurt, the ones who simply disappeared and the people who’s traces still haunt you. It becomes almost destructive, this self-inflicting pain as if you can’t let go of whatever remorse and beauty they’ve instilled you, whatever it is that you never instilled in them.. because you think.. if you’ve left a good impression, you wouldn’t still be writing and they’d still be around to breathe in the smoke you exhale. There’s this deep space of questioning.. of whether or not you were ever good enough, to be so quickly thrown and forgotten. And you write about them because they’re gone and you can’t physically find them or reach them, so you write.. you write for them in hopes that somewhere in the distant space and time, they’ll come across it and think: this is for me and they’ll just know it and perhaps come to realize how much pain they’ve caused to the person who loved him/her immensely. 

But you stop somewhere along the line. You don’t plan to ever and you thought you would never stop writing about them but you do. You stop because just as their footprints so embedded in you fade, so do their ghosts. They die a thousand times to die again and sometime, somehow, you stop trying to bring them back to life. “You stop because you run out of words to say for them, about them.. you stop because there’s nothing left of you to give.”


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