You can't hit me and quit me, baby.
I feel like I'm being crushed, but in the least violent sense of the word. I feel like someone has flattened me, folded me up neatly with aligned corners and gently placed me in a box. And all the while I'm terrified because of their calm face and my panicked eyes and my heart is beating so fast, so fast and oh god I don't think I can breath but they're so calm and this box is so safe yet why am I scared I'm so scared-- And then I wake up with sweaty palms and reality floods into the deep shallow of everything and for a second there is only relief, raw and real. My head is soft against the pillow. Then the thought of it lingers. It lingers, like a loose thread. It hangs there, and never leaves. Loyalty in the most violent sense of the word. My thread. I am burning myself with my own intensity, derived from every doubt and every word and every wet goodbye. In the way that the wave of a hand and the blink of an eye is wet and chaotic and far from beautiful. Fa