like-doing-nothing

[like-doing-nothing]

A living contradiction, that’s what I am—a breathing dichotomy wrapped in layers I barely understand myself. I’ve loved with a heart too big for my chest, given pieces of myself to people who never knew how to handle them, and in that love, I’ve been torn apart. But here’s the truth: every person I’ve ever loved, I see them in me. Their laughs, their tears, their wounds—I carry them. Their essence, lingering like a shadow I can’t shake off.

But there’s another side, isn’t there? Everyone I’ve ever hated, those who tore me down, left scars on my heart, or twisted me into knots I still haven’t undone—I see them in myself too. I hate the parts of me that remind me of them, the ways I mimic their mistakes, their cruelty, their indifference. It’s maddening, this battle of trying to love myself while also being haunted by the parts I despise.

It’s like carrying two mirrors, one reflecting all the light I’ve ever felt, the other showing me the darkness I try to forget. And I’m stuck between them—trying to reconcile that the person I am is both of those things. I am love, I am hate. I am everything I’ve ever cherished, and everything I’ve ever despised. And I don’t know which one will win in the end.

[like-doing-nothing]

Every second feels like a weight, pressing down, suffocating me. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to talk to you, not when every word turns into a sharp edge, cutting me down to something smaller than before. These little games—what’s left of them? Call me by the name I gave you yesterday, the name that once felt like ours. But yesterday is gone, and now, I don’t even recognize who we are.

Every minute slips by, and I’m drowning in the silence between us. I stare at the TV, the flickering screen, but nothing gets through. Can you even see me anymore? I’ve been sitting here, holding back everything I want to scream, trying to pretend it doesn’t matter, trying to hold on while you waste more time on that damn couch. Do you feel anything at all? Or is it just me, stuck in this endless cycle of waiting, of hoping?

I can’t read you. I never could, but I pretended I could live with it, for the sake of us. And now, as I sit here, waiting for something that never comes, you walk out the door. Your bags in hand, like it’s nothing, like it always is—just another exit, another moment where I’m left behind. Every step you take feels like a punch, slow, deliberate, and it takes everything in me not to scream.

I watch you pour that glass of wine, calm, collected, while I feel like I’m unraveling. Mitchell told me I’d be fine, said I’d get through it, but what does he know? He’s not the one sitting here with cases under the bed, filled with all the things we used to be. Those memories spill out every time I close my eyes, and it hits me all over again—how did we end up here? How did we let it get this far?

I don’t want to push you. I don’t want to be that person, the one who cuts corners just to make it easier, but God, I’m exhausted. I’ve tried to savor what’s left, tried to make it last, but I’m not sure there’s anything left to hold onto. And you, standing there, acting like none of this matters, like we’re still having fun. But what’s the rush? Why are you running, when all I’ve ever done is stand still?

I kiss you, and my cheeks burn, but it’s not the warmth I used to feel. It’s anger, buried so deep I can barely control it. I told you how I felt, tried to be soft, gentle, sweet—tried to make it easier for you to hear. But you don’t hear me, do you? You never did. You just laugh, brush it off like my feelings are some joke, like I’m the fool for caring too much.

Can you see me? Really see me? I’m sitting here, waiting for the right time, but it never comes. I can’t read you anymore, and maybe I never could, but if you want the truth, the pleasure’s all yours. I’ve been holding back, using everything I have to keep from breaking, from screaming, but what’s the point? You’re already walking out the door, bags in hand, and each time you do, it kills me a little more.

I guess it could be worse, but right now, it feels like hell. Because every time you leave, I’m left sitting here, alone, wondering if this is the time you don’t come back. Wondering why I let you take everything and leave me with nothing but this quiet, burning rage, simmering just beneath the surface.

[like-doing-nothing]

“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our life.”

— Akshay Dubey

[like-doing-nothing]

[like-doing-nothing]

I have to leave it all behind.

[like-doing-nothing]

maturity is when you stop begging for someone to stay, to love you, or to appreciate you.. you already know your worth. It's better to lose someone than to lose yourself.

[like-doing-nothing]

[like-doing-nothing]

“Staying quiet doesn’t mean I have nothing to say, it means I don’t think you’re ready to hear my thoughts.”

— Unknown

[like-doing-nothing]

Danez Smith, Don't Call Us Dead

[like-doing-nothing]

"I can rewrite the unfinished stories in my folders, but as for us... it's a pain forever marked in my paper."

A. "Bunabae"

[like-doing-nothing]

“If it’s still in your mind, it is still in your heart.”

— Paulo Coelho

[like-doing-nothing]

“It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.”

— Angelina Jolie

[like-doing-nothing]

don’t push me away then act like i gave up on you

[like-doing-nothing]

We must be our own before we can be another's.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

[like-doing-nothing]

“Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go.”

— Unknown

[like-doing-nothing]

“Don’t be afraid anymore. Not of anyone. Not of anything. Nothing. Ever again. Listen to me: not ever again.”

— Marguerite Duras, from The North China Lover: A Novel

[like-doing-nothing]

stop forcing shit... if they’re not giving you the same effort & energy, fall back