the flowers still grow

and honestly? maybe the worst part about this is that i don’t know anymore. what’s me, and what’s just my brain. and what does that leave you with? when you can’t trust your own judgement? when there’s so much doubt in your head that you feel like you’re going insane?

so i’ll paint the sky a cerulean blue and i’ll smile, and draw stick figures and cute flowers and pin it to our fridge and be your perfect daughter, and it’ll all be for you.

and our tears will melt across our cheeks and i’ll call you, at 11:00pm in the bathroom and i’ll tell you how much i love you, but i don’t think you’ll ever truly know.

and i’ll try to write it out. i’ll try to show you, even with my shaking hands. and my broken bones. 

and honestly, sometimes all i know is that the wind blows through the leaves and at least for now… the flowers still grow.


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