No More, No Less

I think this is it.

writingsforwinter:

Say sorry, I can’t. It doesn’t make sense.

It’s like the feeling of walking down the stairs with missing steps, or having your life flash before your eyes all the time - even when you’re not dying. It’s me, wondering if you’ll never speak to me again after this conversation.

Say have you ever seen a horror movie? Not the ones with blood and gore, or the ones where the stereotypically weak female actress gets left behind with the murderer and a hammer. The ones where the entire family’s house is invaded by strangers, where every second is the second between this life and the afterlife. The ones with jump scares. Say, I’m terrified most of the rest of my life will be a jump scare. That my life is a movie theater for the time being and I’m so scared you have to sit next to me during it.

There will always be the people who get it, and the people who don’t. There will always be the people who take one look at you when you try to explain and think irrational, out of control, naive, silly. Childish. But then there are the people who will understand, who will realize - Oh, this is just a survival mechanism.

And the first people will be the ones who push you down those stairs with the missing steps. And the second people who will be the ones who lead you to another staircase.

And one day you’ll wake up, and get to the bottom of the stairs. And you’ll think somebody fixed the steps, because you didn’t notice the gap where some of the steps were missing.

But the gaps will still be there. You’ll just have learned how to step over them.

alieniverson:

oh no a boy doesnt like my apperance whatever will i do