Hannah Rose
Bio
All of the photography on my posts is my own. I am a different kind of artist, I cant draw, but I see the world through a camera lens, and write from that perspective.
Stories (8/0)
Call Me If You're Sad
I just want to know, if you weren't waiting for me to say it first, when would you have said you love me? Would it have been before or after I did? Did I say it too soon? Is that what made this end? Or was it the fact that I walked outside a few time that night? Maybe it was how I kept pushing you to come closer to me when you clearly wanted your space. I know what you're going to say… it isn't anything you did, I'm just… not ready. Well the thing is, clearly it is me, because ready or not here I am. Willing put in the work, but I guess that's because I am working toward something that is so far beyond what I deserve and you… well you'd be back tracking to something unbefitting. I am, in fact, inferior to you in most things. You are more desirable, exceptional in all you do, exceeding every expectation I ever had for you. I am an unsightly basket case. So fickle I unravel at the smallest inconvenience. While it may be unhealthy to view myself in this light, it is the only switch I can find, and its deep purple hue of sadness is an unbecoming tone on my tear soaked face. So I'll turn off the light, I'll wallow here in my dysphoria no longer thinking about my own shortcomings, but about how I miss the sheer sound of your voice. The sweet sweet harmony when you sang and the way it felt to lay my head on your chest. The way your hand felt in mine as we drove to our next adventure, or how you couldn't help but smile when you looked into my eyes. A smile so infectiously attractive that it brought out mine even when I wasn't sure I was capable. I'll think about all this and wonder, how did I go from encountering sunshine even when it rains through the gentleness of your kiss on my cheek to feeling all the pain of losing someone who once asked me if it was crazy to think that we could be each others forever. Weeks have gone by and I've tried to move on, but every time I contemplate such an act I recall that it's you I really want. Sure, I was fine before you, happy even, and now, well… I am fine, just fine. You know, when I called my mother to tell her I had lost the best thing that had happened to me in a long time, she asked if I wanted to hurt myself… since that's what I do. But for once in my life my answer was no. Not because I wasn't upset, but because I was not numb to this pain as I had been to everything else. I didn't need to force myself to feel something anymore. I suppose that's the downside of being healthy, feeling all this pain... all while still wondering if you are doing alright. Still hoping maybe, just maybe I'll get a text message that says you're willing to try. Taking comfort in the thought of you just going through life, as though that month hadn't happened, still smiling, laughing, singing, and obsessing over trivial things like labor and hockey, because all I want is for you to be happy, and if your embodiment of that word lacks my presence, then so be it. I guess what I'm trying to say is call me if you're ever sad because you realize you may be willing to settle for a slightly mad blonde with eyes for only you.
By Hannah Rose5 years ago in Humans
Dancing with Death
Hamlet said it best. “To be, or to not to be, that is the question,” the question of the hour, the week. In fact, it is the question of life. “To be or to not to be?” To live or to die? And there I was, in that moment. Would he chose life? Would he go on to make me feel awful another day? As it was, it was my fault. At least that’s what he said. It was my fault. I left him when he needed me most, but is it really my fault that that part in my life was over. I recognized that he was dragging me down. I had to get out of that relationship. He made me suicidal. He made me hurt. And yet, here I was. In this moment.
By Hannah Rose5 years ago in Psyche
