validation is like drugs. the first time i got validated, i felt like i was floating. i was above cloud 9 just by someone telling me “you’re my friend” in the third grade. not best friend. not my soulmate. friend, and i couldn’t stop my smile from spreading. feeling needed by someone who doesn’t actually need you is a fantastic feeling. that’s why my heart races when anybody invites me to hang out. they didn’t need attention - didn’t need my attention, specifically -  but the syringe filled with proof that i am a fun person to be around sticks directly into my veins and stays there until the medicine runs out and i no longer have the serotonin for those around me. the euphoria and i dwindle, and i grow distant, because it’s become evident that i wasn’t needed for your journey; i was just a pitstop. someone who could give you some laughs but doesn’t have enough advice to listen to your problems. i can tell you your dress looks nice but i don’t have enough courage to defend you in a fight. i can remember your favorite color but you didn’t remember me enough to resurface old photos of us at fifteen and smile at the thought of our memories. i’ve been down this road before. trust me, i have. i want to be seen, but not to be sorry for. don’t look at my past and defy it as my present. i’m not the lonely kid who sat on swingsets and barely had the strength to push herself. i’m not the little girl who had no one to twirl me during daddy-daughter dances. i am still the girl who wishes things were different, but you don’t need to know that. so please, tell me that i’ve changed. tell me that you’re proud. tell me that everything is going to be okay, and that i’m worthy to stay the night. that i won’t become another pitstop.

it’s december and i’m tired of waiting for you like i wait for snow to trickle out of the mundane gray clouds which lack of christmas spirit (i miss it when we were young) and i’m tired of waiting for a bitter breeze to hit me like an unexpected blizzard because it’s 2024 and it’s only getting worse from here (we’re going to die alone, i’m sure of it) and i’m tired of hearing that global warming is a facade but waking up to 80 degree weather in november is normal and eating dry turkey with a smile on my face is normal (i’m only cold on the inside) and discussing my weight and the fan fictions i wrote at the dinner table and not hearing from you on thanksgiving is normal - a text, all i’m asking, pleading from you is a text - hit me like a snowstorm and tell me everything is going to be okay (please, god, give me real normality), that the world won’t end from overheating, even though it already did when you didn’t wish me a happy birthday (i’ve lost track of how many months it’s been since i’ve last heard from you).