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Frostbite
Lately, the chilled autumn air seeping in from the window
has kept me up at night—pouring loneliness
into my empty chest
(generous portions for every gasp)
and I exhale nostalgia.
God, I've become so acutely aware of the chasm between me
and them
and of how my fingers skim the collarbones of everyone
that I push away: "Stay there," I say. Arms length. Perfect.
Teasing myself with superficiality
and nothing more.
It's just that—oh, I can see it clearly:
How easy it would be to leap into their arms;
To look someone straight in the eye without flinching:
No apologies for existing.
I walk so lightly,
breathe so shallowly.
Talk so quietly—
Do you even know I'm here?
Or have you already had the funeral...
The fire inside me has dulled to an ember,
and I don't want to become coals.
Yet I can't help but scatter at the slightest intimacy:
ashes in the wind,
cremated before my time.
See, these arms ache with solitude, and I might die.
Tell them it's frostbite.
It's so cold tonight.
Jesus Christ, it's just that—
I can't remember how it feels to be truly
seen.
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This article has 30 comments.
has kept me up at night—pouring loneliness
into my empty chest"
This line hit me like a stake to the heart. Mostly because it's at night that I am most prone to feel lonely. "and of how my fingers skim the collarbones of everyone
that I push away: "Stay there," I say. Arms length. Perfect.
Yet I can't help but scatter at the slightest intimacy:
ashes in the wind,
cremated before my time."
Jonathan safran foer said this," I am so afraid of losing something I love, that I refuse to love anything." That line reminded me of that quote.
"See, these arms ache with solitude, and I might die.
Tell them it's frostbite."
Is this the longing for a cuddle? Cause I get this way REALLY often, and I'm pretty sure it is slowly killing me.
has kept me up at night—pouring loneliness
into my empty chest"
This line hit me like a stake to the heart. Mostly because it's at night that I am most prone to feel lonely. "and of how my fingers skim the collarbones of everyone
that I push away: "Stay there," I say. Arms length. Perfect.
Yet I can't help but scatter at the slightest intimacy:
ashes in the wind,
cremated before my time."
Jonathan safran foer said this," I am so afraid of losing something I love, that I refuse to love anything." That line reminded me of that quote.
"See, these arms ache with solitude, and I might die.
Tell them it's frostbite."
Is this the longing for a cuddle? Cause I get this way REALLY often, and I'm pretty sure it is slowly killing me.
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Favorite Quote:
dont let people drive u crazy if you know its in walking distance