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awfullyquiet:

My nails have never been longer than they are now. And I’m just waiting for one of them to break, for it to fold close to the cuticle and make me regret trying, make me regret trying to grow them. It’s 9:59 and it feels like it could be 2am. My house is never empty but at nights everyone gets so gets so quiet it might as well be. My brother is in a place that I can reach him, that’s the important thing. Everyday I find something more out about my Mum that I didn’t know before. Today she told me “I don’t tell you everything” and even when I knew that, it felt weird to hear. Sometimes I walk into her room in the middle of the afternoon just to tell her something that came in my head. She didn’t tell me she had panic attacks. I’m such a curious person that I get nosey. I don’t think it’s even curiosity, I don’t know, I just want to know as much about the people I love as possible. Why wouldn’t you want to explore their minds like they’re rooms? More like tiny houses. With secrets written under carpets, notes under the bed. Closets with old passions shoved into the corners. There’s never enough for me to know. I could crawl up in the heart of your house and fall asleep. I love imagining the way you would look if you were physicalised into a place. Sunflowers trawl up the edges of the walls like ivy, faces blazed into the sun. On happy days at least. I don’t know how you’d look if you were sad. Like 5:45pm, permanent blue dusk. One orange light on in the inside, but the door is locked, or the knob is hard to turn. It’s so tough people don’t try. Your brick outside would look like it could fleck off into my hands. Dry dust. I’d sleep on the pavement outside, keep that light in the edge but stare out at the night/twilight/dusk dark blue sky. I’d be too much, I don’t even know what my place would look like. I remember knowing that I knew myself better than anyone else. Truly knowing every inch of me. Now I don’t. Now my memory is so bad that I forget poems I like, stories that made me want to write, photos that I stared at for hours. I found an old bracelet in my drawer today and realised that I took it off for a reason. That person doesn’t really exist inside of me anymore and I wondered what happened to change that over 5 years. I guess 5 years is a long time. It doesn’t really feel like it when it’s just you looking back on yourself. Sometimes I feel like empty skin and other days I wonder where my tattoos are because I swear there are stories on my back, my arms, my legs. I whisper to the words on my wrist that they’re okay, and they’re still right. I don’t know. I’m a messy room because I don’t care about much anymore. I’m a wet towel and a bundle of forgotten red thread. I’m the person that flips over photos because they’re not relevant. I’m a twin of an idiot. A mirror of someone I used to be. I’m a little house at the bottom of the hill who changes with every season but never actually moves.

I ’ m  i n  l o v e .

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

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Crows In Snow - Passenger

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“Sometimes I lie here and think of all the things I wish I could ask you,

If we were to meet and our worlds were to collide.

All that lies beyond a discrete conversation, things we don’t know.

There’s a whole planet between us.”

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