TSP 6

She thought about it. Far more than she would ever want to consider reasoning, she thought about it. Him. The empty bullet of a question. 

Walking up a steep slope it intrudes in her mind again. She reaches the top and looks down at the road as she walks. She wonders what it would be like to jump, to fall, would she feel peace? Not that she would, not that she could, but nonetheless in a completely fenced bridge over six lanes of traffic, the possibility of a jump is a welcome relief from the discomfort of attraction. Stick to the reality of the mental illness and try to burn the fictional hope of romance. 

She doesn’t stop walking.

:::

 

it's ok i'm fine, don't worry. i'm not suicidal.

love myself for leaving this essay to the last minute. i'm bored and two hundred words short. as long as i pass i'll be happy

just found out you can't get ms paint anymore and I am HEARTBROKEN

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PICASSO WITHOUT MS PAINT? IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME EXPERIENCE!

TSP 5

She was lucky enough to have met a few people on campus already. Maria, Chloe her friend from Creative Writing, and Chloe’s roommate Kelsey from Band. 

Her mother asked if she thought she’d see him. Knowing her mother it would be easiest to believe that it was never intended as a loaded question. But in that moment, it felt like a narrowly dodged bullet, a whizz she could still hear as it spun, cutting the air, right past her left ear.

Her response was quick, come from a place of deeply ingrained instinct. ‘No, I hope not,’ before she had given herself time to remember that there was no secret left. At least, not to these people.

:::

it's 11:56 and I just washed my hair and can't justify going to bed. send help

I've got my first uni masterclass tomorrow and I'm terrified




imposter syndrome coming on strong

TSP 4

A bit of a breakthrough had come the February before, seemingly out of the blue. She reasoned with herself in the backseat on the truck ride home. I can open myself up to romance after I fix my fucked up brain. It wouldn’t be fair to my partner to have to deal with all of that. When I’m cured, I’ll be ready. 

But that’s not really how it worked. By that logic, she should have already pushed her family away, and what remained of her friends, to make things easier on them. She hadn’t yet, for better or worse, she wasn’t sure. And she would never really fix herself.

So by those means, her logic against romance was very, very flawed.

:::

TSP 3

People were always difficult for her. And so, with her track record in mind, it’s quite easy to see why she never went up to him, introduced herself, and asked for his name. 

Looking back, she’s not entirely sure what piqued her interest in the first place. But she ended up paying attention to him, his soccer sweater, and the fact that the soccer field was right by her parking stall. She looked, but never saw him.

He played trumpet. First period music. He was supposed to be playing guitar, but broke his hand. 

She paid attention, for reasons she never stopped to consider the gravity of. And so it didn’t take long for her to lodge him in her brain, and to give him what was supposed to be a temporary, funny, name. Trumpet Soccer Player.

It stuck.

:::

  part three. still writing. whoops.

yes I know the name is dumb. I know his name now. I'm not going to post it.

bye.