Rawr Does Not Mean I Love You In Dinosaur. Bitches.

I'm a competitive byaatch. Hear me rawr.

Sometimes I wonder if I won't fit in just because I don't add to the stories of suffering that surround you. The stories that all your friends and the special ones tell you. The ones about the bleeding, the madness of loss and heartbreak, betrayal, abandonment and unintentional harm done over the years. All either forgiven or forgotten. So you listen and then the sympathy in your heart either makes you admire their bravery or reminds you of times when you felt cracked too. I can't lie to you, I'm not good at writing up stories.


So when you've seen or heard a lot, what's still special to you? I want to know.


Looking through her red box of memories,
Faded I'm sure,
But love seems to stick in her veins, you know?

Against the walls, on the windowsills, upon the book shelves and even on the floor, there are rows and rows of candles. We will light them all and bring the sun inside. And it might take a little while. Might take a few tears, a few tantrums, except we stopped fearing those long ago.

We will illuminate ourselves. We will illuminate each other. We will sit and watch the spectacle until all that's left is wax stubs. We might lie on our backs, maybe even face each other, whatever is more comfortable. We will wait for the light to die, then in beautiful united exhaustion You and I will fall asleep. Drifting together elsewhere. And you won't have to worry about waking up every few hours. That's when you'll know. For sure. If you don't already.