I am not hiding in my orange room anymore.
I used to listen to Tori Amos until my ears bled, until my nose dried and my eyes started to sore from all the staring in the same direction – the window the train station the fucking balcony the floor the cigarettes the sound the building in front of my building – DEPARTURE.
I used to suffer, I used to think I loved someone. I used to take long rides and forget about myself.
I used to cry at night and put the same song on repeat and then just fall asleep.
I used to think there were pieces of me someone would never see and it felt unfair.
Now I think some people never get to see you clearly and that’s fine.
Maybe they can’t , maybe they’re afraid, maybe they don’t want to.
I used to cry so hard, I used to sleep late in the afternoon and then hurry to meet a tall skinny boy who loved me even more then I loved myself and he would probably cry at night as well, even harder and he would never understand – then we would take our clothes off, I’d say : I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t love you. He would sigh and continue taking his clothes off, he would close the curtains, we would always be in such a hurry, I would leave with a trail of dust, gasoline and regrets.
I used to sit all night all summer in a black leather chair and watch The X-Files.
I used to sleep so much without dreaming.
I used to cry so much without healing.
pictures made by Matilda Marin