“cool is the careful onomatopoeia of you walking away”
Notes to Self are longer journal entries from Seven Yrs Ago. I was 20 in early 2014.
cool is no power
cool is maneuvering your way against it
cool is refusing to be a part
cool is knowing what you don’t have and fighting to never have it
cool is the careful onomatopoeia of you walking away
cool is gravity, keeping you where you were meant to be
cool is the depth of scars on the belly of your arm when you were told you will never leave him
cool is the grotto cry, gutteral, hollow, begging to contain more
cool is the sharpening of weapons unseen, sheathed in folded hands and open rest
cool is the remain,
the twinkle of inferno
of hot ashes devoured,
the last kindling wild,
before hush, repress into the darkness.