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[noahswritingcorner]

it is november again, and almost midnight. i find myself here once again. sitting in the corner of the room in a blanket with a hoodie on trying to make sense of things. trying to find things to sustain the last bits of me. i wonder if all november will carry is heartaches and longings and emptiness. oh, the emptiness. the loneliness. it is all so great i cannot blame november for not being able to ignore them. for embracing them because all year my cowardice has tried to put the fire of these feelings out. but november keeps these feelings on the bed side table, on the edges of the rooms and on every piece of the marble floor. on the grass of my safe places. everywhere. everywhere. everywhere. inescapable.

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my friends saved me

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i’m grateful for my soulmates.

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my father drives me home today and i realize how long it has been since we have been alone together. he passes through the puddles that have been left by three days of rain almost intentionally as if to mark the road with the memory of us driving together for about ten minutes before it dries so much like this journey that's about to end soon. i wonder about all the gaps that lie between us as we sit a few inches apart. there is no resentment just love, still, for the way he tries to make slight conversations that lead to a silence that is somehow comforting to me (i wonder if it's the same for him) and i find myself understanding bits and pieces of his anger that come from a place of loneliness that i'm far too familiar with. so a wire connects us on top of all the gaps, we resonate with our fears and he opens the windows letting the cold wind in. i look outside the window to the moon and realize this moment, i will remember.

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my mother is full of complains today. full of rage that comes out in the form of sentences that only halfmake sense. but rage like they often say, is a secondary emotion. always driven by something more. today that something is the lack of affection that she has felt. i feel it when i hug her at the end of the day and she says that i don't meet her before i go to sleep anymore. that i don't come to her room to do so. so i swallow my pride and apologize for the fight today and she laughs and asks me why? she forgets the unkind words and although that is not forgiveness it brings me relief to think that my bitter sentences were nothing more than mere sylabals.

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i remember my nightmares only partly. i remember walking on glass and crying but being forced to. i only remember a glimpse of the blood but oh God do i remember the ache. i remember standing on top of pedestals alone while everyone else had somebody. but i also remember someone looking at me with sympathy (who was it? i need to see them again) i remember people from the past and people from the present. i remember my friends but i remember being a disappointment in my nightmares too.

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please don't leave me

I whisper to all the people that visit me in my nightmares

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I want to be the wind so badly today.

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my mother asks me to come sit with her, puts her arms around me and tells me i don’t come to her anymore. and it brings me to tears -almost-. i want to say, “mother, i’m so scared. how can i be okay when everything is falling apart in this hour of ours? mother i’m falling apart the same and i can’t help but love this pain. i can’t help but not be able to pull it away. does it not seem to you too that we’re all nothing but masses left out to decay? mother my heart sinks before i get to open my eyes in the morning and i’m left wishing i wouldn’t have to be mourning the death of my dreams. everything aches. i wish i had loved better but i can’t get myself to change it’s like i’m a permanent set up that can’t be swayed. it is so hard for me to breathe and i wish i could come to you and cry on your lap but there are far too many burdens for you to bear already. please see my love. please hear my pulse and tell me i’m okay. please tell me that these weights aren’t mine to bear and i can lower them into the ground beneath us. tell me it’ll be okay, scare my sadness away.” instead i compliment the dinner she made and do all the chores the next day.

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i put my room in order and try to make it into something i could love. everything i find is a memorial of someone who has come into my life [or found a way out of it.] the receipts from books i have brought for a friend, the papers that one wanted me to write on, the pens that they gifted to me, a typewriter that was given to me by my father who no longer talks, a flower i picked with someone who i undoubtedly miss, a moon i made with my own hands but showed to all the people that were happy for my little accomplishments. i am nothing but a patchwork of all of the feelings that i have felt on the hands of people in my life who have either left or will leave tomorrow. i want to be something more than remnants from other existences. so i take it all off and shove it in a drawer, my wall is bare again and i haven't stepped into my room since yesterday.

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everything seems to be decaying

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it takes me two hours to get off the bed today. it is not that it is comfortable, rather because I rack my brain to look for things worth getting up for but find none. it is a terrible thing to be alive on this day in early January

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the day you left, my mom cooked me your favorite food and i cried on the dining table.