The bruise on the inside of my left wrist is my favorite feature.

To make myself feel better, I am trying to bring myself back twelve hours.

I was in this limpid daze, singing "Reflection" (Belleruche, amazing, amazing) while lying on the floor. Was there because I can't breathe inside my apartment without inhaling stress.

Frustration and annoyance give way to resentment, and I'm so fucking negative lately. I can't stand it. I don't want to be this person, but right now I am, and it's so weak that it kills me.

Singing, I tried to soothe myself on his floor. I was only falling further into that fog when he came back from whatever he was doing and somehow drew me into the other room. Whenever I'm forced to look at myself through his eyes, I can't imagine I and she are the same person. Nothing matters, not my flaws, not my illness, not the constant paranoia that it will come back, not my fears, not my insecurities, not my way of picking apart every aspect of myself to be certain it's wrong....
We share this perfect synchronous addiction to each other. The second his hands fall on me it's like I'm both myself and him at once, and I don't give a shit if that sounds like the immature version of romance because it's real and it's mine.

No one else has to get it, because they didn't stay up until four in the morning laughing after making each other pass out. Somehow it gives me comfort to believe that no one can touch this. No one can have it, no one can make it walk away.

I've never had this before.