yaz > Recent Status Updates

Mother. It’s not the right word. Mother evokes warmth and love and sweetness. Not abandonment in the Tribal desert hours after birth. Not years of silence and implacable hatred.

“It has a name, ya know?" He tilts his head, watching me, "The color."
"Yeah I know, ugly ass orange."
"Hex code #dd4a3d." He grins, "It's name is Coraline."

I wanted to go back, but this? This was the goodbye I never got to say to the person who showed me kindness above all else. This was closure with a person who showed me how to love.

“And if it kills you?” 
“Would hurt less than never kissing you again.” 

“Each of us have a story, unbelievably hard fucking stories.
They hurt and they bleed. When they fall on deaf ears, they become myth. But it doesn’t make it any less real for us. I look at them, knowing that regardless of the lies, one truth is our solid foundation.
“We are all unbelievable circumstances that are complete truth.”

“Thank you for loving him, for showing him how to love others. His heart has helped me in more ways than I’m capable of understanding. I think the kindness everyone always speaks about you having rubbed off on him, probably without him even noticing.”

“I look at her, knowing how much it took out of her to tell me her past. To share those parts of her with me. This is why she’s dangerous for me, not ’cause she’s got a bad track record with men but because I want to talk.
I want to take the leap of faith, to see if she’ll return the favor of belief. I’m so fucking tired of carrying this on my shoulders alone”

“No one cares like Silas Hawthorne. We all have a curse, Coraline. That’s his

It’s not like I want to be this way. Guarded and mistrusting. But it’s hard when person after person lets you down. I want to believe their intentions are good, but I can’t help but feel suspicious

“It’s what helped me mourn Rosemary, what will help me mourn my father when he passes. Learning to love the memory, who they were on this Earth instead of focusing on them not being here. 
Grief is not an uphill battle. 
It’s a process that has dips and turns, not just up”

This is the problem with being silent—everyone assumes your feelings. They build your narrative without facts and spit it out at you like it’s truth, using context clues and bullshit to spin a web so they can understand you.

“How do I say I want to know everything about you more than everything? What you’ll be and where you’ve been. I want to know what it feels like to touch you, really fucking touch you.
How do I tell him that I want that but can’t have it?
That it would kill him if I took what I wanted.”

“Ask me.”
“What?” I whisper, taking another deep breath as I open my eyes, even though I can’t see him.
“Whatever you need to know, ask me.” His voice is steady. “Ask me. Let me talk to you. Make me more than a voice.”

As I read, tears burn the corners of my eyes, and it leaves me wondering.
Is anyone truly who they pretend to be?

Break myself open just so I can have her. Tug on the strings that she has wound so tightly around herself so I can see what’s underneath as she unravels for me. 

With pain comes remembrance. The throb and ache of loss is a constant reminder of the person who no longer exists. When you hurt, you remember everything so clearly because the pain forces you to. 

I have no one because I’ve made myself an island. Looked in the mirror one day and said it’s better to be alone. When you’re alone, no one can hurt you.
But that’s the thing.
When you’re alone, no one can help you either.

Little needles prick the back of my neck at how she says my name, reminding me how she said it the other night. A feeling I believed long gone pools in my gut.
Desire.
Desire to hear her say my name again.

“They say you don’t talk much. Yet, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
“With you.”
My answer surprises her. Maybe it’s the honesty, maybe it’s her disbelief. It is true that I don’t talk a lot, not to strangers or just for fun, but I like talking to her.”

Instead, I cut her a check whenever they need funding or a donation in Rosemary’s name. I didn’t want this organization, Hedi’s work and her pain, to become a marketing tool for Hawthorne Technology. 
Those girls deserve to be more than a pity card

I gave my voice in exchange for silence. Gave it my peace in exchange for acceptance. And now? The one thing I never, ever wanted to do again, and it’s forcing me? 

There isn’t a single person in this world who will look out for you better than yourself

“You’ve always been good at that.” His toothless smile appears. “Knowing.” 

When do parents realize that after a while, we start analyzing them too?

He owes me nothing. Not an ounce of kindness or a second longer on this ridiculous phone call, but he’s here, anyway. And it’s that tender generosity that breaks something in me. 
I have no one. 

There is always too much sun, and everything is loud. Food doesn’t taste like anything but sustenance, and joy has become a dream just out of my reach. 
Life isn’t supposed to be this hard

So I gave in and got quiet. Why speak if no one put weight to the words you said?

Love is not always a pretty emotion. Sometimes, it turns you into a wrathful, vengeance-seeking creature. One that will shred anything that poses a threat.

“I saw what he looks like when he cares, when he allows himself to feel, and just how painful that is for him because he doesn’t understand it. When you are raised by a wolf, all you know is bared teeth and feral hunger. Softness, kindness, emotion, it’s all a foreign concept.”

“This is the third book we’ve had a conversation in. Without her knowledge, of course, but something about it makes me feel closer to her mind without needing to be near her body, just existing between the pages of her favorite books, reading her thoughts as if she’s right next to me, explaining word for word what it is she enjoys about each part”