Skinny Love
emma
11:43 AM
My mother and I argued this morning. She asked me why I wasn't eating, and I asked her why she hadn't asked me that two weeks ago, and she called me a freak and I told her that I wished Dad was still around, and that's when I decided that I didn't love her — not because she yelled at me or because she got on my nerves, but because she didn't know that my favorite color was green, or that I liked sad things because they made me feel something worth writing about, or why I even have the problems that I have. She doesn't know any of these things because she never asks, and she never acts like she cares. That was when I realized she was just like everybody else.
It was cold outside, but I didn't bother to wear a jacket because I was already chilled from the cold shoulder my mother gave me before I left the house. I tried to hug my body with my arms, but they failed to provide much warmth because they were so gaunt that it was almost like they were no longer there. I stopped to get coffee, and I spilled it. I stopped to get hot chocolate, even though I would have only taken a few sips, and I dropped that too. I didn't want to go to therapy anymore. I wanted to turn around and march angrily in the other direction until I walked straight off the edge of a cliff, but all of these thoughts stopped when I felt something heavy on my shoulders — it was a jacket. It was olive green and it smelled like Old Spice and I turned around, just to come face to face with Davis.
He smiled at me.
I think I just stared.
His eyes were blue, and I swear that time stopped and I started drowning.
My mother and I argued this morning. She asked me why I wasn't eating, and I asked her why she hadn't asked me that two weeks ago, and she called me a freak and I told her that I wished Dad was still around, and that's when I decided that I didn't love her — not because she yelled at me or because she got on my nerves, but because she didn't know that my favorite color was green, or that I liked sad things because they made me feel something worth writing about, or why I even have the problems that I have. She doesn't know any of these things because she never asks, and she never acts like she cares. That was when I realized she was just like everybody else.
It was cold outside, but I didn't bother to wear a jacket because I was already chilled from the cold shoulder my mother gave me before I left the house. I tried to hug my body with my arms, but they failed to provide much warmth because they were so gaunt that it was almost like they were no longer there. I stopped to get coffee, and I spilled it. I stopped to get hot chocolate, even though I would have only taken a few sips, and I dropped that too. I didn't want to go to therapy anymore. I wanted to turn around and march angrily in the other direction until I walked straight off the edge of a cliff, but all of these thoughts stopped when I felt something heavy on my shoulders — it was a jacket. It was olive green and it smelled like Old Spice and I turned around, just to come face to face with Davis.
He smiled at me.
I think I just stared.
His eyes were blue, and I swear that time stopped and I started drowning.
♠ ♠ ♠
"Everything that happens is from now on."
— Re: Stacks, Bon Iver
— Re: Stacks, Bon Iver