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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
will i still be the same when winter comes around?
the truth is i've never understood why apples are never green in math problems. i've never understood why butterflies are prettier than moths or why english teachers like jock boys with letter jackets when they laugh like honey.
i had this thought once back in January.
that maybe if i drink enough orange juice one more time, that maybe if the glass is empty enough, that maybe if i throw that god-damned glass at the white wall hard enough, that maybe, maybe, may be...
i could pick up a single shard in between my index and thumb, place it in my father's tear duct and ask him to blink once. twice. thrice.
growing up, my father spent three hours every sunday morning, planting chemicals in my brain matter while mother sang along to radio songs. they sought solace in religion, midnight trains and my decomposition.
i don't quite know if it was the three hours of sunday mornings or the hundreds of sunsets i've sat through- but i've grown softer over the years.
father says-said i'm a sick thing. not a sick person. of course, that never bothered me because people are beautiful like spring.
people are beautiful like spring and there's no explanation to that because no matter how you look at it, spring is just... beautiful.
and i love people. people in train stations on monday mornings and "people who love like it is the last thing they will ever do". of course, i read that somewhere because to think that beautifully while looking at people, you'd have to be beautiful.
and no matter how you look at it, people are just... beautiful.
i tell mother to close my door on her way out. i tell her about seven to eight times and somehow it slips through the crevasses of her mind every time.
i tell her to shut the door so i can lie in bed and cry for a little while, i tell her to stop buying me stupid umbrellas because i want the rain to wash me away even if it is for a little while because of course the sun will come back and evaporate my existence back into the seams of my footprint but i wish the rain would kiss away the parts where i have been touched and i wish people would remain beautiful but people are cruel and unkind and i hate people.
i hate people and i wish they would all go away. i hate that they're beautiful and still do ugly things anyway.
i hate that the sun always sets. i hate that it's beautiful anyway.
i hope my father never thought of people as the sun. i hope he didn't see the beauty in them.
i hope at least once, he had thought of me as the sun and wondered how it must feel to be as beautiful as i am.
