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And this is something I must accept - even if, like acid on metal, it is slowly corroding me inside.

Tabitha Suzuma

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Tabitha Suzuma
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Writer
London
England
Tabitha Sayo Victoria Anne Suzuma
Accepting
Inside
Corroding
Must
Even
Acid
Something
Metal
Like
Metals
Slowly
Accept

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I want to tell her that I can't pull her down. I want to tell her that she has to let go of my hand in order to swim. I want to tell her that she must live her own life. But I sense she already knows that these options are open to her. And that she, too, has made her choice.
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I might appear confident and chatty, but I spend most of my time laughing at jokes I don't find funny, saying things I don't really mean - because at the end of the day that's what we're all trying to do: fit in, one way or another, desperately trying to pretend we're all the same.
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Even though I'm surrounded by pupils, there is the invisible screen screen between us, and behind the glass wall I am screaming - screaming in my own silence, screaming to be noticed, to be befriended, to be liked.
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Nothing can relieve the pain. Not crying, laughing, screaming, begging. Nothing can change the past.
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At what point do you give up - decide enough is enough? There is only one answer really. Never.
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She can't just be a face, a body there has to be more than that, some kind of connection. And I can't connect, don't want to connect, with anyone.
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The sight of such aching beauty would infuse his soul with pain.
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Pressed up against him, I can feel the thud of his heart against mine, his ribcase expanding and contracting rapidly against my chest, the warm whisper of his breath tickling the side of my neck, the brush of his leg against my thigh. Resting my arms on his shoulders, I pull back a little to get a look at his face. But he isn't smiling any more.
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Trying to describe my life and feelings to you is like trying to describe coulours to the blind, or music to the deaf. It's simply not possible.
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Do I realy regret that night? That one moment of joy beyond compare – some people never experience it in a lifetime. But the downside to that taste of pure happiness is that,like a drug, a glimmer of paradise, it leaves you craving more.
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...and my loneliness, always my loneliness - that airless bubble of despair that is slowing stifling me.
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If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I'm going to lose this battle.
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If I keep breathing, then I have to keep living, and if I keep living, then I have to keep hurting, and I can't - not like this.
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I mean, at the end of the day, what the hell does it matter who I end up with if it can't be you?
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Before there was anything, there was Lochan.
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Otherwise I'll fall apart. I'm going to fall apart. I am falling apart.
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At what point does a fly give up trying to escape through a closed window – do its survival instincts keep it going until it is physically capable of no more, or does it eventually learn after one crash too many that there is no way out? At what point do you decide that enough is enough?
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It's horrible being ashamed of someone you care about it eats away at you. And if you let it get to you, if you give up the fight and surrender, eventually that shame turns to hate.
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What else could he possibly have done? What choices did he ever have?
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Lochie. The boy I once loved. The boy I still love. The boy I will continue to love, even when my part in this world is over too.
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