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"I broke myself trying to fix you" 
-a seven word story

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You don't need to love me

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Just a little disclaimer, this post was inspired by my best friend Ardon, who was inspired by the song "You Don't Need to Love Me" from the musical If/then. Basically there was a lot of inspiration. Anywayyyyy. You don't need to love me. Let me rephrase that,  I don't need you to love me. And let me tell you why, There once was a girl with the forest trapped in her eyes who fell in love with a boy who had the sky in his. So the forest within her reached out to the sky within him, with stretching arms desperate to stroke the sky.  And so she stretched and reached and let herself believe that she was the one who held up the sky and he was the one who kept her warm at night wrapping himself between her branches.  And he told her that he loved her whether her branches were decorated or barren. Because he was in love with her skeleton, the things she was built from. But he changed and so did she. We often do. He fell in love with her green, her liveliness.  Winter came...
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The Astronomer

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She was a galaxy, Lit from the inside with stars. He loved the night sky, So he observed her from afar. But he was was only an astronomer,  And she was the endless night, So he sat with his telescope and waited until the time was right. He traced her constellations, He drew her crescent smile, But the astronomer never realized that even a galaxy can be fragile. She was constant, And so was he, The astronomer and the galaxy. So he found it surprising when he stepped out in the night, That the endless sky was devoid of any light. The astronomer fell to his knees and wept,  Her name fell from his lips in a desperate plea. He searched the grass for stardust, He looked for a flicker of her in the sky. Surrounded by darkness he realized, stars shine the brightest before they die.
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"How are you?"

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"How are you?" they ask. They always ask that. It's become a standard greeting, a standard question. It's lost its significance. No one really stops to think about what they're really asking. How are you? I usually give a standard response to the standard question. My lips shape the word, or my fingers type the four letter word. Okay. Because what else am I supposed to say? They don't really care how I am. They're just starting conversation. It's an unwritten rule that you must lie. You grit your teeth, hold back the tears, and give your standardized response.  I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm alright. These are the responses that are expected if you can't give an honest "I'm doing swell how about yourself?"  Because you can't let them know that you're falling apart. You can't let them know that your heart hurts, that your lungs ache, or that sometimes you just wish that you could disappear. Vanish. Poof. I can't le...
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