Lighting new cigarettes,
It has been a beautiful
the last conversation we had (via paragraphsofaprosaist)
Oh god this
There’s a giant teapot boiling over on the stove of your life.
That’s what it feels like, mostly—hot liquid running over everything, staining your cheeks with heat, smudging the paint in the portraits of him you’ve hung up all around your room.
And you can’t grab at it with your hands because this teapot, well, it doesn’t have a handle. It doesn’t have any room to grab on to that isn’t made of scorching, flesh-ripping, metallic heat. You can’t face it, you can barely get close to it, so you kind of just swat at the water with towels, more and more towels. But the towels just soak up the symptoms. They don’t stop the problem.
You try to sleep and all you know is that your kitchen is flooding. You try to work and all you can think about is your apartment filling up, water leaking through the ceiling, the walls, flooding your neighbors, drowning their dogs. So you start getting shaky, it’s weird, everything makes you shake and you startle at the faintest sound.
And other, I don’t know, teapots, they don’t quite look the same as your old one. It might be drowning out every concept of reality and searing off your hands, every day little by little until they are just bloody bones sitting on top of your wrists, but damn how that teapot shines. Damn how it smiles.
But one day you wake up and you are startled by the silence. The constant nausea-inducing, ship-rocking waves of sadness have disappeared. All but vanished into thin air. The teapot’s there but it’s grown cold. You finally look it in the spout, pick it up with your bare hands and reason with your reflection in its surface.
"Move on, shut the hell up, and come up with better metaphors from now on."
And that’s how it happens. What once were the worst months of your life are reduced to fading memories and what once hurt now seems like the cuddliest of circumstances.
And you realize the flood could’ve been stopped all along because there was a drain in the ground. You were just covering it with your big feet, standing on it and crying for a way out.
I don’t friend zone people, I relationship zone them. You wanna be my friend? Too bad, we’re dating.