monchuu

I wish I had the words to tell you what I mean. I used to store sentences between my breaths – things that I couldn’t say at the moment, but wanted to remember. Now I can barely string together enough nouns and verbs to make you understand exactly what you mean to me. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I can’t get it together fast enough I’ll lose you. It’s like you're water slipping through my fingers and I’m not quick enough to chase you through the currents. I know enough to know that you’re wild and free in a way that I’ll never be and maybe I’m jealous of that. Or maybe I

Maybe the problem is that I don't know what a love story should sound like. I haven't figured out what order I should put the words in to make it read just right. I do, however, know what it feels like, but pushing around nouns and adjectives just to make it grow is the hardest thing I'll ever do. And it's true that I've tried it before and maybe I succeeded once, but since then I've learned the way real love washes through veins, and rumbles through the shifting and settling of bones until it changes you completely in a way that is absolutely unyielding. Perfect. Simple. It's not angry, or jealous, it doesn't hurt. It isn't like before. So n

If someone asked a couple months ago, that if I ever missed you. I would have bit my lip and turned away. Holding back tears of pain, happiness, regret. Thousands of memories playing over and over through my mind. Memories of us, laughing, kissing, acting as if nothing could ever bring us down. But now, if someone asked me if I missed you, the answer would be yes. Just plain and simple, I thank you for the love you've given me, and all the good times we've shared, despite the fights and hateful words. I look back and see that it won't ever work again even if we tried. Our friendship was altered, but was it worth it? Loosing such a good frien

"You know, personally speaking, I don't think you're really unwell at all." "I'm sorry, are you the one who is sick or am I?" "There is nothing wrong with you." "Can you say that again?" "I said, you aren't sick!" "Whatever. The receptionist is calling me in, anyway." "You're a hypochondriac." "What?! Listen you-" "Look, just go inside. I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing." "Fine!" * "So. What did the doctor say?" "That it's complicated." "Complicated?" "Yeah. They need to run more tests and figure it out." "Really?" "You sound skeptical." "You told him that you only get 'sick' in history class." "Yes." "And about h

"Hi, I'm-" "I know who you are." "You do?" "You're the guy who thinks he's invisible." "I have a name-" "It isn't important. Because you really don't think it's important." "All right. Since we've started out this way, let me just tell you, I know you too." "Yeah?" "You're the girl who is broken." "I am not broken." "You're the girl whose eyes close every night and open the next morning, only to find you have never slept at all." "I sleep well. Besides-" "You're the girl who dreams of a happy ending even though she has seen seventeen...no, eighteen unhappy ones in her eighteen years." "Happy endings are over rated. And you're-"

“I think it’s funny how everyone draws hearts but no one bothers to fill them in.” “So they’re always empty?” “Yeah.” A pause, and then, sadly: “So they’re like yours.” “Yes.” “I wish I could fill your heart in for you. I have a black pen, do you think it’ll help any?” “Nothing will.” --- “When I say ‘hearts’, what do you think of?” “Batteries.” “Why?” “They make things run.” “But they die.” “Some are rechargeable.” “And most aren’t.” --- Silence. “

We're all either made of cells or stories, but in your case, it's both. You're somehow bigger than what one body can contain. And I know that all of this – all these words and breaths and spaces – aren't enough to explain you. You're better than any fiction will ever be. I remember sitting in the passenger seat of your car, watching the familiar city streets flick by, fast like a picture book. It felt like there was something I was missing between the pages and second story houses, but I couldn't place it. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle, holding my insides in since I was afraid with every passing moment I would let th

You know the feeling when the wind rushes by you and you pull it into your lungs? You take a deep breath, running your fingers through your hair, you close your eyes. Then you smile to yourself and open your eyes. So you stare up at the blinding light in the cathedral sky and watch the clouds fly past. You seem to be left behind and you wonder, “Where are they headed that I cannot go”? Yes, this is the moment I want to keep. I wish that when I breathed in the wind it would stay inside. Instead, the moment is only there for that second, and then it’s gone. You sit still with the sound of music blaring in your ears, n

It was those moments that you lived for. Those moments you just couldn’t help but have a huge grin on your face. That indescribable feeling that was so wonderful. The laughing that annoyed everyone, but you just really didn’t care. The silent giggles that were unstoppable. Your friends laughter that made you happy no matter what. The rush of hearing a piece of music, or seeing a show for the first, or millionth time, and getting goosebumps. The feeling leaving you wanting more. The moments that you want to cherish forever, and never forget. It was those moments that made you feel alive.

I have never been good with telling how I feel. I have separated what seems to be my two emotions as 'on happy pills' and 'off happy pills'. But recently, I have been feeling. I've felt scared, happy, sad, hopeful. I have felt things that I forgot were things you could feel. Things I don't know how to put into words. And it scares me. Though I know the root, I do not want to admit it. I cannot spend too long without the root, or the emotions go haywire. It's becoming frustrating. It's becoming fucking ridiculous. And I'm becoming paranoid. Paranoid of everything. Of what will happen if the world ends, of what will happen if I become dep