You’ve been so accustomed to your lips
only touching your mug each morning that
the thought of them touching another person’s
skin unsettles you. You will walk out the door
with a scarf around your neck and “nobody” in
your mind except the anxiety that haunts your
every step. Passing others on the street, but
never to look up and make eye contact because
god forbid if you see another pair of eyes admiring
yours. You’ll sit alone in class with your head in a
book or your mind lost in music, you’ll look around
to see everybody’s got somebody, except for you.
I mean, who cares anyway, right? People are just
people, they aren’t permanent. They always leave.
At least that’s what you’ve told yourself more than
a thousand times in the stillness of the night when
the only thing your tongue is craving is to taste the
feeling of company. So when you get home you’ll
kick off your shoes and fall on your bed, you won’t
let that one person back into your head. Being
alone is okay, being alone is good, being alone
helps you think. Yet thinking is what is killing you,
suffocating you. You check your phone every ten
minutes even when you know no one has called,
no one has texted. You’ll convince yourself it’s
only a habit, when this habit only formed because
deep down you’re hoping, hoping for someone,
anyone to take away the loneliness.
i.c. // "I’m content with loneliness."
"Are you really?" (via delicatepoetry)

someone from 1997 wished me good luck. it’s like someone from so many years back knows your struggles and i just, i think i’m gonna cry

someone from 1997 wished me good luck. it’s like someone from so many years back knows your struggles and i just, i think i’m gonna cry

5weetsorrow:

Sad/Bands/B&W blog

hiding-myself:

depression blog