Asphyxiating  bff stories

paradoxicalplum Say my name and every colour illuminates
Autoplay OFF   •   3 years ago
I wrote this a while ago as a way of apologizing for not being the daughter nor the friend i was supposed to be. i thoughts this will be easy, that the time will heal my aching heart. it never did and never will.


To mom, and my best friend. May they rest in peace.

It was 4a.m

A dog barking And water falling from the neighbor water tank

And I was sitting outside home home home home home home home home home

There this trick, if you repeat something over and over again it will lose it meaning

The research, The research, The research, The research, The research

See nothing

Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death

See nothing!!

I see walls, roof, floor, windows and doors all that form what's called a home

Something I no longer can feel I no longer feel connected to Ever since you left

And I know that you can't make home of people

But mom this umbrella I am holding works in revers

The rain is pouring from me into my life

As I sit at a sidewalk watching us going backwards, As life slips away from my hands And dust resting over your grave


It’s not about forgiving you,

You don’t get to choose to die from something that was made of you

It’s about Not forgiving myself

For all the "Hola's" "Buenas Noches" and "Hasta Luego" For all the missed phone calls, for all the "to be continued"

All the when we meet, and most of all for not being there

And my dear, you were my sweet morning cookies,

My to infinite and beyond kind of friends

My favorite song rhythm

My Haruki Murakami favorite quote

And my gravity

216, 156 and I am counting 20159442 201511228 Aha!

It’s ironic how your existence turned into numbers Shallow names And a fading memory

And in your after math, I'm chocking from life that running through me

In your after math, poems to me became what mornings are to old people, another curl morning, endless pills and ruthless doctors’ appointments just another trail back to life

And my blog craves my fingers to tumble, my diary craves ink to make you alive again, even on papers, and my heart refuses to stop beating and I can’t find my complete and profound silence

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