Chloe indulges in strawberry soft-serve
and licks her fingers after and this feels better
than the time she let a boy put his face between
her thighs, this feels better than when she took
three Tylenol for a headache, this feels better
than when she finally accepted her imminent death.
Chloe doesn’t remove her jeans before bed
and doesn’t believe in prayer. Chloe wakes up
with her mascara smeared and four new texts.
Don’t you think it’s time to stop romanticizing
un-sharpened pencils, Chloe? Don’t think
you’re fooling anyone with the broken eggshells
stuffed into the kitchen sink. Chloe will hold
the hand of someone who is very important to her
before the end of the week but for the life of her
she can’t stop crying into her coffee over boys who
don’t care. Sometimes she almost forgets her name
but then she finds the CD with it scribbled on like an
afterthought. Chloe, I know how sad you are.
I hear it every time the needle skips.
Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.
George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones (via fassyy)
The loss of youth, the loss of beauty - it definitely plays havoc with your psyche. There’s this transition from, ‘Wow, she looks really young for her age,’ to, ‘She looks great for her age.’ There is certainly a mourning process to that. I used to think I would never have surgery but it’s really hard to say never.