HOME | DD

Description
im going through a very hard time right now and while this is heavily self indulgent do not take this as something smug and haughty or a self destructive way to vent. this is how im coping. please respect this. this is basically literally saying everything that happened so its very personal but you can read it if you want.

She sat in her room a couple months later, talking and laughing with a new friend--it had been a while since she was this chipper for her family had been suffering greatly from loss. She turned to see a large stuffed monkey in the closet, peeking out as if shy and not wanting to be found. This friend turned to the girl, and asked,

"When did you get this?"

The girl blinked with confusion and drew her attention to the closet where it sat, and she met its beady eyes with a smile. "It's a tragic story, I don't think you'd want to hear it," she insisted, waving her hand dismissively. Her friend shook her head and pried further. "No, no, it's okay. Tell me about it."
The girl held her arms and stared at her feet, for she rarely kept eye contact with someone else--her lack of bravery shone in her eyes every day, and she had matured enough to realize her faults. What felt like ages of silence finally ceased when she took a deep breath and lifted her head. She began to fidget.

"I do believe I have experienced love, no matter what some others may think. Though, I'll tell you what I saw." She hesitated, her cold fingers tapping against her skin that was now littered with goosebumps, for the way she had chosen to cope had left remnants of what was there before. She wasn't sure if she was completely over it all.
Her friend fell silent and listened intently.
"This is a story of a girl ridden with panic at what she had discovered while tidying her heart as she did on a regular basis. She was a girl of virtue and tried earnestly to be free of envy, wrath, lust--you name it. Every cardinal sin, she wanted nothing to do with. Instead, she found him. Yes, he was there. He wasn't conventionally attractive by any means, yet what captured her was not his looks but his heart and his lifestyle. In some ways they were completely opposite. He was one of the most hardworking people and got up early each day even when he was at his lowest. There would be nothing that could keep him down. She preferred a comfortable life, and due to how she grew up, she was easily broken down by setbacks and wanted nothing more than to retreat into herself in isolation when she was at her lowest. She admired him.
Yet they startlingly were similar, too.
She had become so close with him that they could tell each other everything. They are the best of friends that any friends could be. Her heart would crack and break each time she witnessed him beat himself up--he had no intention of forgiving himself for any mistake he ended up making. He gave too much of himself, neglected his own issues, and sacrificed much for other people, even when he got nothing in return. She was stricken with grief at this realization. They were different and yet, the same. A paradoxical realization.
As time began to pass, she fell for the little things; the way he pushed his hair back, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his laugh, his eyes, his dexterous hands and the cadence of his voice that sang such sweet melodies that sneaked in through her ribs and plucked each heart string with a finesse she couldn't ever quite place. He made her mind reel with poems until she ran out of words to say--he became indescribable to her."

"What happened?" The question hung in the air for a few moments, and a sad chuckle left her lips.

"She knew him too well. The panic began to set in early because he was no dunce. He was perceptive and intuitive, he could tell from a mile away what went on in her head and she, unfortunately, was never one to be subtle. No matter how hard she tried, how many minutes upon hours she calculated ways to make herself seem ambiguous, it was all for naught. Soon, it was like he could read her mind. The littlest of mannerisms gave away to him when and if she was lying, what exactly she thought about, even when nothing at all was said. As an easily flustered girl, being under his piercing blue gaze caused her to fumble, and she became more and more obvious. She became hysterical when she was alone. She knew him too well--for he did not feel as intensely as she did, and had plenty of crushes on plenty of girls. She tried to think positive; she was pansexual, therefore there had to be many more people who could be this for her. There had to be someone out there. She was discovered with time and ended up confessing--exactly three times. She never seemed to fully express her thoughts. There was so much to him that she was like a faucet left on.
The things she said made him so, so happy. Yet, she knew him too well--for he did not feel as intensely as she did."

The tension in the air rose sharply as the point she made was reiterated, and she spoke more eloquently as time passed, looking at her friend in the eyes now with passion and intensity.

"In her pain, she tried absolutely everything to move on. She wanted to be his friend, and she was. That would never change. Yet the internal war that went on within her was becoming bloody. She tried to work through his problems with him and it became too much to bear, for hearing him speak of another girl so obsessively nearly drove her mad. The situation with time was resolved, he apologized, and she no longer heard of those problems. She tried to hold him at arm's length, for perhaps distance would lessen the pain and she could better discern her feelings, but doing so induced such a torture that she could barely take. She couldn't avoid him like that. It'd hurt him. She came to the conclusion that she was stuck. Nowhere to turn. She had to accept the fact that she wasn't just feeling some sort of offhanded, obsessive crush. There was more to it.
His birthday was coming up, and she realized that no one else had planned on getting him anything--and she wanted to be the one who did. She didn't see it as some calculated attempt to get him to fall for her. She wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. So, she got him a present, and the following Monday, hid it in his locker. He found it and was genuinely surprised, but he teased her about it, questioning her about it--yet he knew it was her from her handwriting. She got nervous and flustered as usual, but she only laughed, smiling coyly, giving him a hint that yes, it was her. She fled the room quickly. Her heart melted when she saw him get excited over it, saying how he'd wear the new beanie he got every day, how it made his day. He thanked her. She said you're welcome. She admitted as well that she had help from their friends, and it was what started the immense amount of teasing from them. It was that very Wednesday where she promised she'd tell him everything, since he kept prying her about it. She needed to be brave.
Oh, how lovely this flower of a relationship started to bloom.
He did like her, you see. Yet he was afraid of his feelings being short-lived. He had seen her be lead on before, and he didn't want that for her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He asked her,

'Is it worth the risk?'

She replied,

'Yes.'

The next night, he agreed. He asked her out.
The amount of pure shock and giddiness that hit her was like a bullet through her heart, and she told everyone who would listen. She wanted nothing more than to be alone with him in person just one time."

She looked up at the ceiling, took another deep breath, and managed another painful smile.

"Nothing was more nerve-wracking than sitting on that bench alone by the theater. She waited fretfully and shifted, unsure of how to present herself until he showed up. The moment she saw him she quickly rose and threw herself toward him, and they embraced. His scent filled her nostrils and reminded her how she felt at home.
Warsan Shire, a favorite poet of hers, taught her to never make homes out of human beings.
Yet he opened his doors, and they shuffled into the theater, and immediately, they huddled together. The jitters she had were quietly ebbing away at the feeling of his arm around her and the tucking of her head underneath his chin. They spoke in quiet, yet snarky comments and hushed murmurs. It was, perhaps, the most intimate thing she had ever felt. Not even her first kiss felt like this.
He went so out of his way to make her feel happy--he held her hand and soothed her, and his presence nearly lulled her to sleep. Until her foot fell asleep and she had to sit up. They laughed about it, her more painfully as she hissed at the pins and needles in her toes that she quickly warded off.
She paused for a moment to finally look into his eyes--she stroked his hair back, and felt the corners of her mouth tug--as her hand, used to create and destroy, so gently and carefully touch his cheek. Her perception of time became blurry until she mustered up the courage to kiss his forehead and cuddle closer, if that was even physically possible. Their arms wrapped around each other, she buried her face into his neck and felt him stroke along her arm and back, in what she could only describe as the most comforting feeling she felt in a long time. She was always the comforter. She needed someone to hold her, too.
Afterwards, they left the theater, and they laughed when she asked about if she was too clingy--he insisted she wasn't, and that he just wanted to take things really slow. It was more than okay with her.
He had a surprise gift--a life-sized stuffed monkey. It had to be as big as she was. She giggled so childishly and called him a sap--for that's exactly what he was--and got into his truck, greeted with a blanket to keep her warm, for it started to snow. Yet, in that truck, it was the warmest place. It was warmer than her own home had even felt for almost a decade. She made sure he couldn't see when her eyes welled up in absolute bliss and joy at where she was--it was like her dreams came true, you see. They laughed and joked the whole way back, and once he dropped her off, she kissed his cheek and thanked him for the night. He had done everything just right--it was perfect."

Her eyes welled up and she turned her head, avoiding her friend's gaze again. At this point, her friend's face completely contorted, her brows furrowing as sympathy washed over her.

"Too perfect.
For that night she expected him to say something. He said so prior to their date. She was excitedly telling her friends how it went, until he sent her the text. I know, I know, it sounds lame and childish, but if it were said in a call or in person, I think it'd have a more chaotic reaction.
He wasn't ready.
He thanked her for bringing him out of his comfort zone, and for showing him such care and affection that no one else had. He came to the conclusion that his feelings changed not from falling for her, but from the attention he received. That if he allowed this to continue that he'd be leading her on. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He wanted her to be happy--and he was convinced that he couldn't give her that.
She laid in shock.
Hanging up the phone from her friends,
she laid.
Nothing registered to her face as she stared blankly up at her ceiling and forgot where she was, despite being in her bedroom. She felt like she woke up from a lucid dream, a terrifyingly wonderful dream, to a cold, cruel reality. Dumbfounded, she told her friends what she had just seen. Dumbfounded, words failed her, for once. She felt something leave her body--something tangible and physical left her body through her chest. It felt like her soul, but she was clearly alive. She was breathing, she was moving, she was still alive.
This is a story of a girl ridden with panic at what she had discovered while tidying her heart one last time, only to find that it was already clean.
No trace of anger or resentment could even be found within her. There was nothing she experienced from the first boy she had a crush on who took her heart and broke it to pieces with no remorse right in front of her eyes. There was nothing even remotely close to hate inside of her.
She began to well up. Why couldn't she feel these things? It would have been so much easier, couldn't it? To just write it off as a heartless, cruel way to turn her down--but, oh, how her heart refused any excuses. How she rejected those ideas outright.
Instead, she blamed herself. Ignorant, naive, and impulsive she was to jump into such a thing. What else could have happened? No one can change someone so easily--but instead, her mother told her that in life, you take risks in order to learn and experience it. She no longer blamed herself. She wept uncontrollably, for she no longer hurt for only herself, but for him. She knew him too well--for he beat himself up, and had no intention of forgiving himself for the mistakes he made--for the pain he caused.
She forgave him almost immediately.
She wants nothing more than for him to forgive himself. To be happy. She was deathly afraid of facing him because she knew him too well. She wants nothing more than for him to feel success and happiness. Even if it's not from her. Even if... Even..."

The tears rolled down her cheeks and she trembled like a puppy, staring at the stuffed monkey from her bed. At this point, her friend had stood up and come over, holding her tightly and nestling into her neck. She needed to be held.

"Even if she will always love him, even if it's not the same way," she quivered, her breath hitching as she began to regulate her breaths. "I know her personally--"

"You were that girl, weren't you," the other girl mumbled into her skin, closing her eyes and holding her tighter.

She nodded.

"The amount of dread he felt beneath it all was unbeknownst to me. He loved her enough to show his honesty that the incoming storm they would weather together. He couldn't keep it together and I still feel the guilt, I still hurt, and I will hurt for him as long as he doesn't forgive himself. I'll forgive him for him if I have to--I can't stand it. I can't stand it. H-He gave me that to show he cared. That's why I couldn't get rid of it--it means so much to me that he'd give me parts of himself that he'd show no one else. I have the utmost honor of being his friend. I always will have the utmost honor of being his friend. I will always love him that much. ...But differently. Not the same way."

Her eyes finally met her friend's gaze as the other girl wiped her eye with a finger, whispering,

"A tragic story, indeed."

Description
im going through a very hard time right now and while this is heavily self indulgent do not take this as something smug and haughty or a self destructive way to vent. this is how im coping. please respect this. this is basically literally saying everything that happened so its very personal but you can read it if you want.

She sat in her room a couple months later, talking and laughing with a new friend--it had been a while since she was this chipper for her family had been suffering greatly from loss. She turned to see a large stuffed monkey in the closet, peeking out as if shy and not wanting to be found. This friend turned to the girl, and asked,

"When did you get this?"

The girl blinked with confusion and drew her attention to the closet where it sat, and she met its beady eyes with a smile. "It's a tragic story, I don't think you'd want to hear it," she insisted, waving her hand dismissively. Her friend shook her head and pried further. "No, no, it's okay. Tell me about it."
The girl held her arms and stared at her feet, for she rarely kept eye contact with someone else--her lack of bravery shone in her eyes every day, and she had matured enough to realize her faults. What felt like ages of silence finally ceased when she took a deep breath and lifted her head. She began to fidget.

"I do believe I have experienced love, no matter what some others may think. Though, I'll tell you what I saw." She hesitated, her cold fingers tapping against her skin that was now littered with goosebumps, for the way she had chosen to cope had left remnants of what was there before. She wasn't sure if she was completely over it all.
Her friend fell silent and listened intently.
"This is a story of a girl ridden with panic at what she had discovered while tidying her heart as she did on a regular basis. She was a girl of virtue and tried earnestly to be free of envy, wrath, lust--you name it. Every cardinal sin, she wanted nothing to do with. Instead, she found him. Yes, he was there. He wasn't conventionally attractive by any means, yet what captured her was not his looks but his heart and his lifestyle. In some ways they were completely opposite. He was one of the most hardworking people and got up early each day even when he was at his lowest. There would be nothing that could keep him down. She preferred a comfortable life, and due to how she grew up, she was easily broken down by setbacks and wanted nothing more than to retreat into herself in isolation when she was at her lowest. She admired him.
Yet they startlingly were similar, too.
She had become so close with him that they could tell each other everything. They are the best of friends that any friends could be. Her heart would crack and break each time she witnessed him beat himself up--he had no intention of forgiving himself for any mistake he ended up making. He gave too much of himself, neglected his own issues, and sacrificed much for other people, even when he got nothing in return. She was stricken with grief at this realization. They were different and yet, the same. A paradoxical realization.
As time began to pass, she fell for the little things; the way he pushed his hair back, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his laugh, his eyes, his dexterous hands and the cadence of his voice that sang such sweet melodies that sneaked in through her ribs and plucked each heart string with a finesse she couldn't ever quite place. He made her mind reel with poems until she ran out of words to say--he became indescribable to her."

"What happened?" The question hung in the air for a few moments, and a sad chuckle left her lips.

"She knew him too well. The panic began to set in early because he was no dunce. He was perceptive and intuitive, he could tell from a mile away what went on in her head and she, unfortunately, was never one to be subtle. No matter how hard she tried, how many minutes upon hours she calculated ways to make herself seem ambiguous, it was all for naught. Soon, it was like he could read her mind. The littlest of mannerisms gave away to him when and if she was lying, what exactly she thought about, even when nothing at all was said. As an easily flustered girl, being under his piercing blue gaze caused her to fumble, and she became more and more obvious. She became hysterical when she was alone. She knew him too well--for he did not feel as intensely as she did, and had plenty of crushes on plenty of girls. She tried to think positive; she was pansexual, therefore there had to be many more people who could be this for her. There had to be someone out there. She was discovered with time and ended up confessing--exactly three times. She never seemed to fully express her thoughts. There was so much to him that she was like a faucet left on.
The things she said made him so, so happy. Yet, she knew him too well--for he did not feel as intensely as she did."

The tension in the air rose sharply as the point she made was reiterated, and she spoke more eloquently as time passed, looking at her friend in the eyes now with passion and intensity.

"In her pain, she tried absolutely everything to move on. She wanted to be his friend, and she was. That would never change. Yet the internal war that went on within her was becoming bloody. She tried to work through his problems with him and it became too much to bear, for hearing him speak of another girl so obsessively nearly drove her mad. The situation with time was resolved, he apologized, and she no longer heard of those problems. She tried to hold him at arm's length, for perhaps distance would lessen the pain and she could better discern her feelings, but doing so induced such a torture that she could barely take. She couldn't avoid him like that. It'd hurt him. She came to the conclusion that she was stuck. Nowhere to turn. She had to accept the fact that she wasn't just feeling some sort of offhanded, obsessive crush. There was more to it.
His birthday was coming up, and she realized that no one else had planned on getting him anything--and she wanted to be the one who did. She didn't see it as some calculated attempt to get him to fall for her. She wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. So, she got him a present, and the following Monday, hid it in his locker. He found it and was genuinely surprised, but he teased her about it, questioning her about it--yet he knew it was her from her handwriting. She got nervous and flustered as usual, but she only laughed, smiling coyly, giving him a hint that yes, it was her. She fled the room quickly. Her heart melted when she saw him get excited over it, saying how he'd wear the new beanie he got every day, how it made his day. He thanked her. She said you're welcome. She admitted as well that she had help from their friends, and it was what started the immense amount of teasing from them. It was that very Wednesday where she promised she'd tell him everything, since he kept prying her about it. She needed to be brave.
Oh, how lovely this flower of a relationship started to bloom.
He did like her, you see. Yet he was afraid of his feelings being short-lived. He had seen her be lead on before, and he didn't want that for her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He asked her,

'Is it worth the risk?'

She replied,

'Yes.'

The next night, he agreed. He asked her out.
The amount of pure shock and giddiness that hit her was like a bullet through her heart, and she told everyone who would listen. She wanted nothing more than to be alone with him in person just one time."

She looked up at the ceiling, took another deep breath, and managed another painful smile.

"Nothing was more nerve-wracking than sitting on that bench alone by the theater. She waited fretfully and shifted, unsure of how to present herself until he showed up. The moment she saw him she quickly rose and threw herself toward him, and they embraced. His scent filled her nostrils and reminded her how she felt at home.
Warsan Shire, a favorite poet of hers, taught her to never make homes out of human beings.
Yet he opened his doors, and they shuffled into the theater, and immediately, they huddled together. The jitters she had were quietly ebbing away at the feeling of his arm around her and the tucking of her head underneath his chin. They spoke in quiet, yet snarky comments and hushed murmurs. It was, perhaps, the most intimate thing she had ever felt. Not even her first kiss felt like this.
He went so out of his way to make her feel happy--he held her hand and soothed her, and his presence nearly lulled her to sleep. Until her foot fell asleep and she had to sit up. They laughed about it, her more painfully as she hissed at the pins and needles in her toes that she quickly warded off.
She paused for a moment to finally look into his eyes--she stroked his hair back, and felt the corners of her mouth tug--as her hand, used to create and destroy, so gently and carefully touch his cheek. Her perception of time became blurry until she mustered up the courage to kiss his forehead and cuddle closer, if that was even physically possible. Their arms wrapped around each other, she buried her face into his neck and felt him stroke along her arm and back, in what she could only describe as the most comforting feeling she felt in a long time. She was always the comforter. She needed someone to hold her, too.
Afterwards, they left the theater, and they laughed when she asked about if she was too clingy--he insisted she wasn't, and that he just wanted to take things really slow. It was more than okay with her.
He had a surprise gift--a life-sized stuffed monkey. It had to be as big as she was. She giggled so childishly and called him a sap--for that's exactly what he was--and got into his truck, greeted with a blanket to keep her warm, for it started to snow. Yet, in that truck, it was the warmest place. It was warmer than her own home had even felt for almost a decade. She made sure he couldn't see when her eyes welled up in absolute bliss and joy at where she was--it was like her dreams came true, you see. They laughed and joked the whole way back, and once he dropped her off, she kissed his cheek and thanked him for the night. He had done everything just right--it was perfect."

Her eyes welled up and she turned her head, avoiding her friend's gaze again. At this point, her friend's face completely contorted, her brows furrowing as sympathy washed over her.

"Too perfect.
For that night she expected him to say something. He said so prior to their date. She was excitedly telling her friends how it went, until he sent her the text. I know, I know, it sounds lame and childish, but if it were said in a call or in person, I think it'd have a more chaotic reaction.
He wasn't ready.
He thanked her for bringing him out of his comfort zone, and for showing him such care and affection that no one else had. He came to the conclusion that his feelings changed not from falling for her, but from the attention he received. That if he allowed this to continue that he'd be leading her on. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He wanted her to be happy--and he was convinced that he couldn't give her that.
She laid in shock.
Hanging up the phone from her friends,
she laid.
Nothing registered to her face as she stared blankly up at her ceiling and forgot where she was, despite being in her bedroom. She felt like she woke up from a lucid dream, a terrifyingly wonderful dream, to a cold, cruel reality. Dumbfounded, she told her friends what she had just seen. Dumbfounded, words failed her, for once. She felt something leave her body--something tangible and physical left her body through her chest. It felt like her soul, but she was clearly alive. She was breathing, she was moving, she was still alive.
This is a story of a girl ridden with panic at what she had discovered while tidying her heart one last time, only to find that it was already clean.
No trace of anger or resentment could even be found within her. There was nothing she experienced from the first boy she had a crush on who took her heart and broke it to pieces with no remorse right in front of her eyes. There was nothing even remotely close to hate inside of her.
She began to well up. Why couldn't she feel these things? It would have been so much easier, couldn't it? To just write it off as a heartless, cruel way to turn her down--but, oh, how her heart refused any excuses. How she rejected those ideas outright.
Instead, she blamed herself. Ignorant, naive, and impulsive she was to jump into such a thing. What else could have happened? No one can change someone so easily--but instead, her mother told her that in life, you take risks in order to learn and experience it. She no longer blamed herself. She wept uncontrollably, for she no longer hurt for only herself, but for him. She knew him too well--for he beat himself up, and had no intention of forgiving himself for the mistakes he made--for the pain he caused.
She forgave him almost immediately.
She wants nothing more than for him to forgive himself. To be happy. She was deathly afraid of facing him because she knew him too well. She wants nothing more than for him to feel success and happiness. Even if it's not from her. Even if... Even..."

The tears rolled down her cheeks and she trembled like a puppy, staring at the stuffed monkey from her bed. At this point, her friend had stood up and come over, holding her tightly and nestling into her neck. She needed to be held.

"Even if she will always love him, even if it's not the same way," she quivered, her breath hitching as she began to regulate her breaths. "I know her personally--"

"You were that girl, weren't you," the other girl mumbled into her skin, closing her eyes and holding her tighter.

She nodded.

"The amount of dread he felt beneath it all was unbeknownst to me. He loved her enough to show his honesty that the incoming storm they would weather together. He couldn't keep it together and I still feel the guilt, I still hurt, and I will hurt for him as long as he doesn't forgive himself. I'll forgive him for him if I have to--I can't stand it. I can't stand it. H-He gave me that to show he cared. That's why I couldn't get rid of it--it means so much to me that he'd give me parts of himself that he'd show no one else. I have the utmost honor of being his friend. I always will have the utmost honor of being his friend. I will always love him that much. ...But differently. Not the same way."

Her eyes finally met her friend's gaze as the other girl wiped her eye with a finger, whispering,

"A tragic story, indeed."