It’s Weird That When I Was Going Through The Worst Shit Of My Life , I’d Consume The Most Vile ,

ABT ME

name ; nvrhere fav things ; myself , writing age ; 22 posting ; teen wolf, supernatural, IWTV , myself , adhd rambles

the wlw uniforms

what if, instead of texting you, i just talk here and fantasize about you reading it?

i imagine you stumbling upon this and realizing that i still love you. i mean, it’s right here! on this post! made just for you!

everything i write these days is for you.

everything thought i make has your smile in it. buried between letters and my fingers moving to tap on this keyboard. it’s to the rhythm of your heart.

bump, bump, bump.

mine is speeding up, if you are reading this of course. i can see you shocked still- swiping to our messages at the bottom of your logs, hovering over your own letters.

do you remember my face enough? can you capture it like i do yours?

god your heart is still beating in my head. i remember after our first kiss, i laid my ear against your chest and heard it for the first time.

bump, bump, bump,,,,

and it never. stopped.

come home to me

or at least

write me a letter

.🏃🏻💨

claudia being 14 feels unsatisfying compared to her being 6 until you’re an emotionally stunted 20 something year old who feels like she’s in a hurricane of turmoil and hormones that mirror what you’re supposed to feel during puberty and puberty alone… but it never ended.

you’re in a constant state of wanting more: more from your parents, more from your peers, more friends, more fucks, more to fuck. her being 14 seems too old, until you remember that at 14 you felt too young. this severed limb staring at you from the table in a limbo of confusion wondering, who’s limb it is? who do I belong to? a mature woman or a young child.

you insist you’re a woman, but everyone around you feels different. you insist you are old until you’re father yells at you again and now you’re just that little girl who he thought he put in her place already, but clearly you need reminding. claudia being 14 is how we feel when we grow up mentally but everyone around us keeps us as a still image in their head. that little girl they know that will never be grown enough for the world. and sometimes, you believe it, you perform it.

but I know different, I feel that raw anger no girl knows. the burning feeling that claws up your throat. the betrayal. the horniness. the euphoria. she was heartbreaking being stuck in the body of a 6 year old. but it’s equally and as intensely tragic being stuck at 14.

In my dreams, your hair is still blond, even though it’s clearly brunette in your instagram profile picture. I stare at it after I wake up, glancing at the lock to show your posts are private. You still smile openly. It says “kate,” but that was never your nickname when I knew you.

I still know you, I know your smile. It’s the same and I know this because you go from 16 in my dreams to 22 in that silly picture. You’re holding a dog, but it’s not your poodle. I wonder his name and wish you still send silly snaps that I learned Bob’s name from. I stare at that too. It’s ugly.

The bitmoji, I mean. Never you. You were the beautiful one between the two of us. I remember staring at you studying for hours, it’s always after you finish quieting my sobs. I hate my family, you were more a sister to me. You were more than a sister to me.

We stopped talking because you sent nudes to the guy I liked. I never liked him, I never liked the way he saw you naked. Before I got to. And wasnt that sick? That I would wonder when you’d be comfortable enough to show me something up close like your chest. It didn’t seem as personal seeing as you lived inside of mine.

Your name isn’t “Kate.” You don’t like weiner dogs, they remind you of sausage and you’re a vegetarian. You love volkswagen beetles, but theres a jeep behind you. You also hate profile pictures. When I meant more to you, it was a picture of us. We were covering our face in my backyard. Being silly teens, and we printed it out at school just because we wanted proof.

I want proof of you. I imagine you under me, arms wrapped around my neck as I breathe onto your chest. You rub your hands over my hair, whispering how much you’ve missed me. I missed you more, and I prove it with my tongue. I claim you and keep you under me, protected and safe. Away from boys, the world, my family. Away from a world where I stare at your private instagram profile at 4 in the morning and I’ve got work in 3 hours and my hand’s aching and I want you back even as my best friend and you’re at college upstate and I could just drive the 6 hours and scare you or i could simply message the number that I hope is still yours with a “hi.” I don’t text you at all.

I live quietly until the ache comes back, and I open instagram on my phone again.

When I think about my ex best friend and wish I could tell her everything going on in my life again.

I guess that’s why I like to read so much.

I’m alone a lot, and for the most part I don’t hate it- with my father’s Appalachian genetics I have realized that I am probably better equipped for that than most people. But I also recognize that isolation isn’t beneficial to me as a human, and sometimes I can feel it squeezing me from all sides, my social skills leaking away from the applied pressure. My lips dry out and glue themselves shut. When I’m reading a book I have another person’s voice with me for a week or so, and that can feel like a kind of warmth. As if I have a visitor.

the thing about being replaced is it’s a feeling you deny up until it sits right in front of your face.

once things are clear- and you and everyone- comes to the understanding that someone else is receiving your affection, the moments already passed.

and it sucks.

a lot.

even when she deserves it because she really is that great and lovable.

she’s just better. she laughs louder, her cheeks tinge pink with it. when she does it, she turns towards you and places both hands on your forearm with a gentle grasp. you feel taken when all of her eyes and lips angle themselves towards your being. it makes your chest puff up in a proudness that only someone so great and lovable can make you do.

I’ve never been great or lovable.

I’ve always been told im too rough. my face gets serious in all the wrong moments, and i look at you with a tentative smile instead of something wide and so open to receiving anything you can give.

i have nothing to take. im so full of sadness, so tinged with blue. there’s no more marks on this canvas worth making. the picture so ugly and wide.

she’s a painting of a cloud, always pleasant to look at whether its at high morning or at sunset. all of her at any time is digestible.

and its so unfair, isn’t it? That we have the same colors and you just show them better, you just carry it lighter.

but you deserve that love, i swear it. you were born deserving, grew up deserving. so deserving no one told you different. no one beat you down to ensure you knew you were any less deserving. no one proved it to you the way they did with me.

so when i see you replaced me, I let the moment pass. i let the laughter wash the hurt right out of me.

I’m not even a charli xcx fan but I felt compelled to make this