Work Text:
21.
I aspire to be as strong.
You who laughs in the face of things out of your control.
You who continues to train yourself, despite your motivation having died so long ago.
I blink and you get stronger.
It inspires me greatly, but I know I won't be able to do half as much. You know it too, don't you? You must.
How stupid of me to think that, though. Too lowly to even stand. Not anymore. My legs get weaker and you keep growing.
Yet when I offhandedly expressed my desire to do the same you came back the next day with a stack of paper, my own schedule.
I'm grateful, I really am, but someone as pathetic as me doesn't deserve something like that. Not from you.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you I threw it out.
30.
I can always try to run from my problems, in the most metaphorical sense I can convey in my writings; but somehow, they keep finding their way back to me.
It was .. maybe three weeks ago. I don't remember. We spent most mornings together, having known each other before both of our stays here.
You said something along the lines of "When we get out," and I snapped. I don't know why it was that day, you said it all the time, I was in a good mood. I don't know. I'd like to go back and remember my thoughts from that day, how dare I yell at you? But I can't.
I rot in my bed and you keep growing.
I'm too afraid to let you in again. I'm afraid I've damaged this .. already fragile relationship. I should have written about it when it happened, I'm afraid I'll forget about it entirely now that it's in writing.
35.
When I was little, or at least from what I can remember, which really isn't much, my hair was a deep brown. My eyes didn't hold so much weight, weren't so sunken.
I don't know why I'm saying this, I think I had a point but I'm not sure.
It's very thin now, anyway. Completely white besides the bit of brown hair at the very bottom. A complete mystery, my doctors say.
I never was fond of it. No matter how much they try to turn it around I've only hated it. Not that it's something I try to fix. If this is what I'm being handed, I must deserve it.
You were here this morning. Always you.
I don't know how to describe my grief.
My hair gets grayer and you keep growing.