His and Hers

by Alice Feeney

There is a difference between being and feeling alone, and it is possible to miss someone and be with them at the same time.

Anxiety often screams louder than logic, and when you spend too long imagining the worst you can make it come true.

Sometimes our memories reframe themselves to reveal prettier pictures of our past, something a little less awful to look back at. Sometimes we need to paint over them, to pretend not to remember what is hidden underneath.

I think it’s the same for everyone, but as a species we are pre-programmed to pretend to be happy when we think we should be. It is expected of us.

Sometimes it feels as though I live just below the surface, and everyone else lives above. When I try to be, and sound, and act like they do for too long, it feels like I can’t breathe. As though even my lungs were made differently, and I’m not able, or good enough to inhale the same air as the people I meet.

sometimes think she was just too precious and perfect to exist in such an imperfect world.

It’s as though I’ve lived lots of different lives in one lifetime, and the one I shared with him was never meant to last for ever.

People will go to extraordinary lengths to hurt those they love; far more than they ever do for those they hate.

I always thought she’d be the one to unplug the fan if the shit ever hit.

There are some self-inflicted life sentences. We all carry prisons of regret inside our heads, unable to break free of the guilt and pain they cause us.

Time is a trapdoor we all tumble down at some point in our lives, often completely unaware of how far we have fallen. Captivated by an audience of our own worst fears, that demand an encore whenever we dare to stop feeling afraid.

Youth fools us into thinking there are infinite paths to choose from in life; maturity tricks us into thinking there is only one.