I’m young, I’m exhausted, and I have not had enough free time to enjoy my own youth. My entire life, I’ve been too busy occupying myself with the interests of others, trying to satisfy their needs, quench their various thirsts for this and that in attempts to receive this warmth of this so called “love” I’d been promised countless times over.
Yet, I have yet to receive.
My entire life, I have not felt any sense of warmth from anyone… not even my picture-perfect family. The toothy smiles plastered on our faces in every family portrait are just facades used to deceive everyone into thinking that we actually love each other. My mother has this obsession that her life must be the epitome of perfection, her family included, even if she has to fake it. Never once has she ever tried to strike up a conversation with any of her children nor coo them unless she was in front of someone that she felt the “kind and beautiful mother” impression was called for.
Not once, have I ever felt any warmth from anyone, I repeat… aside from my shower head and the heat emanating through my coffee mug to my fingertips.
My mother tells me that I’m selfish for seeking anything beyond her disgusting sense of “perfection.” That I should be perfectly content with where I am and who I am, even though all of it is fake for the most part, aside from the fact that I hate my mother and my family and everyone else.
Still waiting for someone to waltz into my life (or should I say slow, slow death) and show me that life is worth living… or at least trying to live.
tagged as thoughts. fiction.
- boxcubed likes this
- lastnamebaron reblogged this from caseybeewrites
- krisssssssie reblogged this from caseybeewrites and added:
- caseybeewrites posted this