Aquifellous

Aquifellous

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

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Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Houses:

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Summary

Look at the people that you are infatuated with. People that other people try to embody. Look at people that you’ve loved, people that have hurt you. Have you ever loved someone so deeply that it demoralized you? You become that, and never be the other person again.
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Summary

Look at the people that you are infatuated with. People that other people try to embody. Look at people that you’ve loved, people that have hurt you. Have you ever loved someone so deeply that it demoralized you? You become that, and never be the other person again.

Content

Submitted: February 02, 2017

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Content

Submitted: February 02, 2017

A A A

A A A


May 10th.

The first month I squandered in agony beyond rectification. I thrived on pure vacancy; I did not eat, I did not sleep. The nocturne was divided, in which half the nights I'd be awake and the other I'd spend asleep from lassitude. My days were not days, they were the lapses of fluorescence in which I did not function as one should. It was the first time I had ever witnessed the vacancy pierce itself in.

June. I had been dreaming about you for an entire month. I'd consume pills in the night to keep me awake because the devastation of losing hope over and over every morning was murderous. I was recuperating glacially, as if the internal inflictions were physical matters. I aced my finals. My brother graduated. You were not there, and I wanted to die. I reached out to you with trembling fingers and you severed my wrist with words. The lack of such reeked of disdain and disregard. I got drunk that night.

July. Much of it is a blur. After I had been woefully refused from you, I spiraled in descent and found myself at a bottomless pit of hellish flame that I was completely impassive to. It burned with an aroma of hard liquor and wispy cigarettes, but I only ever felt its warmth when it was going down my throat. Under the moon I eclipsed myself--the light had vanished. I was in dalliances and despair--with men and alcohol and tobacco. 

August. I was bettering myself until I wasn't. I blew the majority of my money on alcohol--$80 almost every week. It was my birthday, and I threw a party. You forgot. 

September. There's no romantic prose-like substitute for shitfaced. I threw more parties. I got more drunk. I hooked up with more boys.

October. I took comfort in pills. Recreational sedatives. I even pursued hallcuinogenics just to see you one last time. I even tried to train myself to lucid dream so I could speak to you again, even if it was in an illusion. I was desperate.

November. I'm ruthless and reckless. I'm tired.


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