I think it is safe to say, it is definitely over.
And when I say that, when i said that - the sides of my cheeks stopped burning a little, relief is refreshing but it won't stay long. And it is pinned or underpinned by too much else, burnt fingers refusing to let go, thinking about it makes my stomach curl up, and my brain is fizzing over, it's too dangerous, that i can't stop it, have very little control, that i don't know how much more it can take, or i, or anyone else. i am so tired, and i want to let go, i want to become someone else, someone that you can adore & who knows to keep a distance, someone who isn't strangled, not buried by this mundanity, i'm an ungrateful little wretch sure, and also, explicitly not-good-enough. and that is what i have to change, or just live life, or something. it's getting easier & harder at the same time, compounded by my not-knowing-ness. nothing-knowing. sure, & maybe i hate you for it, or maybe i don't. i can't tell, not now. i just wish you hadn't goddamn lied to me, oh-so-very-long-ago, hadn't promised & given so much, and snatched it away. maybe i hate myself more because i made it turn out like this. now what shall i do? falter along, i'm getting blinder & i'm feeling more sick. at least there is window, or some-chance. if only there weren't so much goddamn clutter, if only i didn't ruin everything.
Feeling: empty, achey, not-very-productive
Listening to: commentary-blahblah
Pretending: i don't know. really,