What They Don’t Say Is How The Storm Doesn’t Knock On The Door. It Gets Into Your Shoes, Climbs Into

What they don’t say is how the storm doesn’t knock on the door. It gets into your shoes, climbs into your lungs, you try to smile but your face doesn’t know how, you try to speak but your throat is filled with water and people keep telling you it’ll pass but what they mean is: "they hope you survive it"

they mean: "please stay long enough to see the sun again" and you nod because it’s easier than saying “I’m already gone.”

But you keep walking or crawling, or dragging yourself by your own breath. You make it through a minute and another and a thousand more. You don’t even notice the moment the storm starts to pass. You just look up one day and the sky is…not clear, but softer.

You laugh and it doesn’t feel like lying.

You cry and it feels like release, not drowning.

And no, you don’t remember how you survived. You don’t remember each battle you had with your own mind or the nights you wanted to disappear.

but you’re still here and that means something, even if your voice trembles, even if you don’t know what comes next.

You stayed.

You stayed.

You stayed.

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the token gay

the suffering bisexual

the non-existent trans person

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4 weeks ago

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