Smooth Stones
rating: +15+x

Mom,

I fucked it up again. I don’t want to be like this, I don't. I just can’t remember if it's ever been different.

I'm lost, I'm floating in the sea of it all, I can feel the undercurrent slowly dragging me down and in my struggle for breath, I can't help but admit that you were right. I was never ready for this. I don’t know who I am without you. I need you.

I need to cry like I used to when you’d tell me I

I can't recognize myself. I don't remember anything before you. I'm not even sure if I remember you, at least not anything real about you. About me.

I don't want anything anymore. No. No, that's a lie, actually. Maybe if there was a way to know who was right and wrong, to know who you are, without a shadow of a doubt, I could move on.

But life is not a clear stream. Life is a muddy, murky lake with debris floating to the top and sinking back down on a whim, faces appearing and disappearing under the water, all whispering their own secrets. Swimming to the bottom gets me no closer to understanding.

I want to be treated with tenderness. I want someone to hold me and tell me that I'm beautiful and perfect and that nothing was my fault, but I couldn't take it. I take it in doses, from therapists and short-lived friendships, and men and men and men and me

I need the bitterness too. I need the conflicting flavors to melt on my tongue in a perfect blend of agony and bliss. I need to be angry, I need to resent everyone and myself. I need to glue together the pieces I still have left in the shape of a person.

I need someone to tell me I'm worthless again, I need something concrete, something I can be. Maybe if I grind it all down into a fine enough powder I can make a sand castle with it. Build a moat so the waves can't crash over me and make me dust anew.

My body is a templ

My body is a fire pit

My body is a furnace. I spend days going on empty, breathing in the ash and soot and clasping my blackened hands together in a silent prayer that one day it will finally fill my lungs. Other days I am alive with the fire licking my face, evaporating tears that will never get a chance to fall. I am aflame with hatred and it has nowhere to go. The pressure rips me apart and I cannot for the life of me remember where the pieces were supposed to be.

My mind isn't what it used to be. I can't be alone, can't be idle. It all wanders away from me too fast.

Like you, in a way.

I miss yo

I am no longer human. Do you love me?

Does it get better?

My old English teacher used to tell me that we could all be seen as rocks, and life a fast-moving stream that slowly rid us of our hard edges and outer layer, making us into something different. She never said better. Just different.

Is it strange to miss the edges?

Nevermind. It's fine. I'm fine. Hope all is well. Say hi to Carmen for me.

-Ché

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