there was a blinking light on the screen. the color was between stop red and attention yellow. that alone could be the sign not to open it. and yet she was so used to ignoring whatever her gut told her – even if it was often right.
the thing about hope is that it’s often tiring. mostly because almost no one else have it. to the point that when you inject it into world, you get back a small spark of light – but there’s only so much you can be responsible for – and then it leaves you seeing smoke.
“i haven’t eaten for days” ; “i’m sorry to hear that” ; “there’s no need to be sorry. i was just sharing” ; “okay” ; “someday this pain will be useful to you” ; “we can only hope…” ; “that’s not what i meant” ; “with you, it never is” ;
all that was left was to built a fire. and there would be smoke for miles. but fire also keeps your warm inside. whatever got burnt and was still standing after it would be worth keeping. at least that’s what she told herself anyway – let it sting.
listening while writing: Regina Spektor – Eet