Bookitty

  It's done. You're done.The sealed envelope. Firmly pressed lips. Unchanging brutal reality. Depleted energy levels. A half-hearted search for the memory of hope. And that's it. (Book ref#1)   You tell yourself you need a moment. The moment turns into a day.You shut your windows, lock the door and turn the lights off. You crawl under the covers and will time itself to stop. (This is me pretending that I'm a diversified person who listens to all types of songs.)   The world catches up with the best of us. It happens. And it happens all the time.   If death were music it would be your heartbeat .Fading when you're occupied and hammering against your skull when you least want it to. But always there. .   If depression were a dance it would be your breath. Overlooked and underestimated. Shallow and small. Escaping but not leaving. Never leaving. But always there.   If souls were visions they would be smiles. Bleeding and broken and thoroug

  There are people whom we remember by their faces. The piercing gaze of one or the knowing smile of another forever etched into the planes of our memory.   Then there are other factors. Honeyed voices. Lacquered tongues. Broken promises. Shattered hearts. (When you're a low-key Loki supporter in a world drooling over Thor.)   Sometimes however our recollection of someone is based on neither of these. Sometimes when we remember someone , we remember the way that the world shifted in their presence.   Mouths snapping shut as crescendos resolved to hushed whispers. Smiles discarded off faces as they encountered the impending doom of his presence. Spines straightening and postures solidifying.   You can't deny this. There's some part of you that is impressed by the way that the world gravitates towards him. You yearn for that level of authority. To be unaccountable to everyone. An emotion tugs at your heart whenever your eyes cross. A searing red for this feel

There are good days and there are bad days and then there is this.   The good ones are hazy. A summer spent. A scent registered. A smile lingering and then fading until its very existence becomes a question.   The bad ones are sharp. A stabbing chest pain. The taste of tears remaining on your lips. The hopelessness that grows to engulf every passing second. Then there are these. Neither hazy nor sharp. Not lingering and most definitely not fading. Just there. Existing. One moment its a day. Regardless of its torrent of sentiments , just a day. But then its not.   Your head spins. Once. Twice. And then it stops. Or maybe you're just so used to it to be able to tell a difference? Maybe you're already too far gone.   But hold up. There's voices. Why are they so slow though? What are they saying? But more importantly : why don't you care? Perhaps its something out of your area of interest. Then where is your usual reaction?   The rolling eyes.

 You can hear them holler from  the hallway. The corner of your lip tugs right into place and your eyes tinged in just the right amount of increasing trepidation and arrogance to mark you as a high-schooler. You weave your way to your class praying that no one will notice you while hoping that someone will. You close your eyes and think of your room, with its familiar mingled scent of sweat and perfume and the posters from countless bands lining the walls. The thought gives you strength as you mentally calculate the hours that remain before you’re free to be there- but more importantly to be the person you can only be within the secure confines of isolation. It’s the version of yourself you like the most. It’s a version that you’re unwilling to share with anyone else. (I'm exactly that level of graceful.)  You enter your class and see them. Sitting in a tightly knit circle and drawing looks of envy from everyone nearby. You make your way towards them and the circles in