Anonymous
6/11/2025, 7:35:01 AM
No.24458433
>>24457722
To enter a room and bend the light towards itself. To say the right thing.
Smile without meaning it. Show just enough to stay wanted.
Love was never about love. It was always about proof.
To be chosen. To be chased. To speak in patterns, not in truths.
What is it to show hunger without feeling it?
I have changed. Despite forbidding myself to do so in the past. There is an eerie blue on the horizon that fleets from view as I leave work. And the picked fruit no longer tastes as sweet as before. And the Unripened fruit found at the grocery store no longer tastes as bitter as before. But more so than anything more pronounced is the dust. And I can feel it on my skin as I walk into Walmart, as I drive down the road. The sense of accomplishment in the air has stagnated. clung itself to me. Shown its shadows behind those I love as they struggle to find words to express themselves the way they did when younger. My brother's faces have become oblong. Their eyes are bloodshot and devoid of glimmer. Setting themselves aside to breathe on their own in desolate studies and offices, as if the proximity of another inhibits.
No promises have been fulfilled fully. All has been some kind of lie.
And the truth, the dust that rises. Irritating. Suffocating.
This is what has become of my youth.
To enter a room and bend the light towards itself. To say the right thing.
Smile without meaning it. Show just enough to stay wanted.
Love was never about love. It was always about proof.
To be chosen. To be chased. To speak in patterns, not in truths.
What is it to show hunger without feeling it?
I have changed. Despite forbidding myself to do so in the past. There is an eerie blue on the horizon that fleets from view as I leave work. And the picked fruit no longer tastes as sweet as before. And the Unripened fruit found at the grocery store no longer tastes as bitter as before. But more so than anything more pronounced is the dust. And I can feel it on my skin as I walk into Walmart, as I drive down the road. The sense of accomplishment in the air has stagnated. clung itself to me. Shown its shadows behind those I love as they struggle to find words to express themselves the way they did when younger. My brother's faces have become oblong. Their eyes are bloodshot and devoid of glimmer. Setting themselves aside to breathe on their own in desolate studies and offices, as if the proximity of another inhibits.
No promises have been fulfilled fully. All has been some kind of lie.
And the truth, the dust that rises. Irritating. Suffocating.
This is what has become of my youth.