the art of breathing

This is so long overdue. And I don't feel like writing any of this right now. But ugh gotta start somewhere I guess.


Some people in my life... I'm not sure of their purpose. They don't hurt me, they don't really do anything.
And then there's people who do everything. Hurt me so bad I don't know what to do - and help me so much  I wouldn't know what to do without them.

Yes, this is about a guy. But not in the traditional way.
It's not a love story. Could have been. Maybe. In another life, in some alternate universe I would not want to live in.
He's like my brother. Kind of.
He treats me poorly, doesn't really give a shit about my feelings (well, sometimes he doesn't), isn't afraid to snap at me about everything....
He's always there when I need someone to talk to, he doesn't judge me, he compliments me and makes it sound genuine.
Go figure.


If we were both normal (=sane), we probably wouldn't talk to each other anymore. But in this twisted world we end up relying on each other a bit too much. I remember thinking I won't let people "in" anymore. What the hell happened to that....


Remember that one Friday night?
After the days I'm trying so hard to forget?
When I asked you how to make it stop.
And you tried to help. You really did...
Well, you saved my fucking life.
Wouldn't admit it.
But you did.



Weakness. That's what it all comes down to.