I'm not used to the awkward silences.
The way his eyes grow cold around me, then sad, then cold again.
I'm not used to not curling up on his pillow at night, and talking like a seven year old about my day.
I'm not used to not being grumbled at for kissing his shoulder when we hug, just because it's just the right height for being kissed.
I'm not used to not being his favourite, even though he tries to hide it and pretend he doesn't play favourites.
I'm not used to swinging one languid thigh from my chair and glancing at him from the sides of my eyes, like what we're talking about doesn't hurt.
...But I've chosen where I stand.
And it's not his1 side, or his2 side.
It's my side. And this stand is all the things I should have said a long time ago.
Tantrums don't work, and screaming doesn't work. Noise is overrated, so I'm going to stand here in my metaphorical wheatfield and be silent and look up at the sky with quiet eyes. fall asleep with flowers in my hands.
electric gingerheaded boy, last night: "...nothing lasts. and the truth of that devastates me."
on the plus side, i had purple icecream today.
and my friends made me laugh.
and yesterday i wrote a song about a mermaid and a man, and it was good.