SkittishSheep

Snapshot, a crappy polaroid picture Nostalgic memories that don't exist Time, a strange, odd mixture Connections made and missed Life, too easy too lose sight Of everything that matters Caught up in being wrong or right Emotions are left to build up & shatter

I could always make teachers proud of me Something that my parents would never be I would help out wherever I could I just wanted to be understood I never really felt quite the same Kept it quiet, myself to blame I'd get called a teacher's pet Get asked out on a stupid bet Got the message, crystal clear It's way better to disappear Existing started to feel wrong I knew I'd never really belong Started to contort and bend Myself, to try and pretend That I could truly blend In, and finally make a friend

Recovery - Vermont, June 22nd Time trickled forward. On and on from the despair that brought Jamie to this godforsaken place. Circumstances had coalesced into an amalgam of loneliness and foreboding. In short time he had gone from a self-sufficient, competent individual to a cloying and desperate excuse for an existence. He’d taken a leave of absence from his life. It was not imposed upon him, but he didn’t feel he had a choice in the matter. Everything around him was crumbling from neglect and he couldn’t garner the energy to hold the weight of his world any longer. It was strange to him that one blow had broken him. He hadn’t realized how fragile he had been when he met Anneka. Jamie had fallen fast. The entirety of their relationship had been unconventional, but somehow that enriched it and made it felt even more special. Jamie sat still. He focused on his breathing; his heart beat in his chest as he inhaled the crisp mountain air. He was unattached. No one was going to come

"Welcome back, Kiley. There's that light. I sure as hell thought it had been extinguished and honestly I wasn't sure how I was going to get through the rest of our lifetime without it." This one had crashed at him as though a wave. It had far higher amplitudes and at far greater frequency than anything he had ever lived. It had the fascinating effect of making the signal and the noise feel interchangeable. As though her every thought and whim were worth the entirety of his attention and affection. He steered into this, rode the wave, enjoyed it's melodious sound and sang along to it; it felt like a melody all his own. Kiley sat cross legged heading southbound toward the city on the Red Line. The roar of the train as it hurled toward his destination was like music to his ears. There was just something about the grit of this daily commute that spoke volumes to his soul. It had been a tough month. Months, really. Overall, it was very touch and go for him; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to

Ryan's world was draining color. His existence was getting duller. The easy thing to do is to wallow. To sit mired in one's own mind is a special kind of torture. To do anything beyond that takes work. It's an interesting place to be when you don't have the energy to begin moving on, but you feel as though remaining stuck is going to kill you. Wasn't he tired of feeling like such a pitiful excuse of a human being? There hadn't been a single day this month that he could point to and say that he lived it well; that he didn't squander pouring over the same emptiness. "You're stronger than I am. Granted, you didn't wade in as deeply as I had, but you're surviving it." With every moment he felt like his strength was sapping and that the water he was treading was going to engulf him. Last night felt like a breaking point. Some confluence of feelings, of music, of conversation, of thoughts intermingled to place Ryan in complete disregard for his own well-being. He didn't

I feel as though I'm trapped in a groundhog's day-esq cycle. I wake up to a greeting of a faceless, virtual companion of pseudoanonymity. Is it still catfishing if both parties are acutely aware of the other and are actively ignoring the truth? It's by far the thinnest veil imaginable separating the two of us. An unspoken understanding that neither is ready to quite let the other go, but that we similarly cannot keep the other. Oh the webs we weave. It's all so frustrating, joyful, cutting, stimulating. Too many adjectives that don't quite do justice to it all. After a round of messages about good mornings and some lighthearted flirtings, we rise for the day. And I am met with silence. The line goes cold, the signal dead. "Tell me to get up." I do, begrudgingly. What was once a cute thing between us had shifted into a prelude to the silent implication that "We are now done talking." "Get up. Now. Stop being lazy. You have so much to get done. Brush your teeth.