Thumbs up if you agree
Anonymous asked:
How are you?
I’m fine, thank you!
Anonymous asked:
You look like a cute egg with glasses in your chicken video
Eggs come from chickens
Anonymous asked:
i was smushed against you during the tfb concert thanks for not hitting me
tbt
Silent Home
I drove home from the Thursday happy hour. Maybe I had one drink too many, but I had to get home right? I walk in the front door and no one is around. I remember when we used to all eat dinner together. You come down from upstairs and I try to make conversation with you mom. You listen for a bit and put your head back down to your phone.
Why can’t you talk to me mom? I’m your son; you’re supposed to be proud of everything I do. Maybe my drinking is a cry for your attention, but my drunkenness isn’t apparent to you.
You should yell at me for driving home after drinking. You should take the redness of my eyes as a traffic light. Tell me to stop. You almost lost me once, don’t let me run too fast.
The days are getting cold now, you should tell me to put on a jacket. I stay up too late, you should tuck me in. Set your wine glass down on my nightstand and kiss me goodnight. I’ve always wanted that. I want your appreciation. Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.
What are you going to do when I move out? When am I going to do when you pass on? We need so much of each other but don’t say a word. This house remains silent so I turn on the ceiling fan. Loud music that your old ears can’t make out over the sight of your phone screen.
I use the ticking clock to keep myself out of my thoughts. I could live there, but it’s not my home. It’s too noisy to be my home. No one laughs anymore. Did we ever laugh? We didn’t laugh when dad was here. We didn’t laugh when sis had her babies. We didn’t laugh when I had cancer. We didn’t laugh when I moved away to college. We didn’t laugh when I moved back, a different person than you remember; a ghost who was given a second chance to enjoy the subtleties of life. A ghost who haunts this house, but enjoys the memories of the past. I hope I don’t scare you. I hope I don’t possess your thoughts and bring back images of my pale body asleep on the white hospital sheets.
I’m home again, but I’m not whole.
I’m a revived piece of a severed soul.
I’ll never return from whence I’ve come,
but I’ll dampen the soft sounds of this silent home.
I’m a vegetarian
