“Nothing Ever Ends Poetically. It Ends And We Turn It Into Poetry. All That Blood Was Never Once Beautiful.

my edit

fun fact: trauma victims becoming obsessed/infatuated with what traumatized them (especially if that trauma came from abuse) isn’t creepy or disturbing. That’s literally a symptom of PTSD, and is often uncontrollable, so maybe don’t demonize people who get stuck or overly focused on their intrusive thoughts. We literally can’t control this.

“We make up horrors, to help us cope with the real ones”

Peter Pan (1953)

You are truly beautiful. Yes, you are.

And you are not even real. It's a sweetness in the air, an old yet new fleeting image from a forgotten memory, a breathtaking instant and fast beat skipped, a painful sensation longing to rest in my body forever. This cruel desire is killing me slowly, because I will never know if it loves me back. Even if it did, I'd be lost in myself too much to care or notice.

This eternal melody created by my imagination is winning the game, but I won't lose either.

I would never have dreamed this. Yet I discover mysefl dreaming it constantly, when the sudden urge appears. While my world is shattering, as I try to ignore it. What are you, spirit? Why do you keep appearing near me? Too close. Too real.

I am afraid.

Is it real, my desires, or is it mere envy? Is it possibly both?

Don't answer me, not today, not tomorrow.

Because I want to keep dreaming you just a little more.

‘safe’