ThisisHowIFucktheSky

I guess I don’t really have any moving words, angry rants, or sad stories. I just feel…betrayed. I feel like after everything we had gone through, after all of the times I helped you as you while your world was crumbling around you, after all of the times I stopped you from doing something stupid, after all of the times I ……

but I guess that was it wasn’t it. 

We had seen too much. 

see ya around, kid. 

Every time I have to sneeze I curl my tongue into a taco shape. 

No taco tongue = no sneeze

She shuffled around in her chair just searching the wall. It was a blank wall, standard issue white-wash with no specific characteristics, but that’s not where her focus was. Within her mind a feeling of emptiness settled over her and over the room like a soft blanket made of cotton candy. 

She had to occupy the space with something. 

I can feel it pulling away from me. It’s like hanging off of the edge of a cliff, and the only thing I have to hold on to is the crumbly edge. Hands sweating, feet dangling, heart pounding, I desperately try to pull myself up so I can be on solid ground.

But I keep fucking slipping. I. Keep. Slipping. 

Do you know what that’s like? I’m sure everyone has experienced this feeling at some point in their life.

I want this to work. I just want something to finally work. 

I play quidditch. Yes, I run around on a broomstick and throw a quaffle through a hoop ( I’m a chaser ). Think of rugby with dodgeballs and you’ve imagined quidditch

Maybe that was why I clung to him so fiercely. Even if I didn’t know who he really was, I liked to believe that he at least cared about me. I was able to see him as perfect because it was completely up to my imagination as to what he could look like. It was completely up to my imagination what silly mannerisms he could have or how he dressed. I could imagine him surprising me with flowers or little things. I could imagine how he would know exactly what was on my mind. I could imagine the endless amount of time we could spend together. 

In essence, I could create anybody— change him into anybody—that I wanted. 

Such a dangerous thing a woman’s imagination is