Tales I’ve never told
Tales I’ve Never Told is a new forum to share your untold thoughts, tales, woes, and so forth. Here, in this corner of the void, no one knows you. It is a safe space to ramble and weep at the feet of indecency. Pop a bottle of vino and pour your heart into your words. Live deep and suck the marrow out of life. We’re all human, there’s no one here to judge.
Tales i’ve never told
To: Dad
I've been wanting to get this off my chest for years, but I'm scared that getting this out will somehow taint my remembrance of you. All I have left are my memories. But I have to get it out. I feel so guilty.
When I was around seven, I would keep coming every night to sleep with Mum and you. And I loved it, just being with you both, feeling like I was in the centre of everything, like I was the only person who mattered at that moment. And then it happened. One night I came, and you sent me back to my room. You told me that I had to sleep in my own room, and my sister was there, and I couldn't just leave her all alone. And you turned me away.
I never came back. But years later, in the hospital, when you were in your coma, when I had to look at you, just asleep, so far away from me, knowing you could hear my tears, feel my hand on yours, I felt myself break. And all I could think was how inappropriate it was to think about how unprepared I was for my exam the next day. The doctors told me you were dying. And this was supposed to be my goodbye. And I tried saying, "It's okay if you want to go." But the words never came out. I just kept repeating "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay..." again and again while the tears dropped down. And then, I remembered my sister, and how she was waiting for me outside, and even though she wasn't alone, I couldn't leave her be, and so, I turned back and walked out, walked away without even looking back.
And I'm haunted. I'm haunted. Because then I didn't think it had anything to do with my memory. But now I do. And no one can convince me of anything different. I hate myself for not staying longer, for not refusing to leave, for not screaming out, "I want you back, please don't leave. Please don't want to leave." For everything I'm sorry Dad. I'm sorry, and I will always be sorry. I miss you so much, more than I'll ever possibly even realize, and I'm sorry. But I didn't turn back because I didn't want you anymore or I wanted to get back at you for turning away.
I wish you were still here. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never told you that you helped me grow up. That you helped me realize that I needed to be there for others as well. That I finally understand you meant well for me.
I miss you Daddy
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To: Everybody Relevant and No One At All
Dear Everybody Relevant and No One At All,
There’s this girl who used to go to my middle school. Let’s call her Cassie. If I'm being completely honest, I never even knew Cassie existed until the whole district got the news. Over some holiday from school—maybe it was spring break?—her family went on a road trip. Cassie, her older brother, her mom, and her dad. The four of them. But only one came back.
Cassie’s older brother was the only one who survived that car crash. Cassie’s older brother. Who was, and still is, in high school. He lost his mother. His father. His sister. Everything.
And for lack of a better word, it kills me. It rips every fiber of my soul out of my very being. It wrenches my heart and twists it, strains it into unimaginable shapes. Because of her brother who is living with god knows what family now. Because of her brother who still shows up to school, day after fucking day. Because of her, because she was thirteen. Thirteen. Cassie. Was. Thirteen. Years old. And her life got robbed in the dead of night on a highway or an interstate somewhere across the country. Because her brother doesn’t have parents anymore. Or a sibling. Her brother doesn’t have anything. Not anymore.
Because I didn’t even know Cassie’s name until I read her obituary.
Dear reader, how the hell is it supposed to be a happy birthday when Cassie is forever thirteen? Every year I grow older is another year she doesn’t. All her dreams died with her. Anything she wanted to do, be, accomplish. Gone. Just like that. Just like her. I wonder if she had any big aspirations that were left unfinished. Because thirteen-year-olds don’t typically start truly exploring their passions until at least high school or university. Maybe she wanted to be a singer or an astronaut. Maybe she wanted to start a literary magazine.
Dear reader, if you want to know why I am crumpled into a ball on the cold, hard tiles of my bathroom floor, it’s because I am crying over a dead girl who I never even knew - who I’ll never get to meet.
Did they even have a funeral?
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To: Hari
I'm so sorry for all the things I did. I wish I had the courage to tell you.
I've always dreamt a future with you, but I can't get myself to tell you what I feel. But I've gone beyond what I should do and hurt you in all possible ways. I'm so sorry. It's been months since I last talked with you and it's been more since I fell in love with you. If you ever read this, please know that I only wish the best for you. I hope you lead a life full of joy and cheer, because I love you. You don't have to be mine but no one else can fill the void in my heart that you have left.
✭✭✭
To: Joshua
Sometimes I dream of meeting you. Okay, many times. It might be in a shop, or a restaurant, or even in another part of the world, but I want to meet you again.
The last time we met, it's not that I didn't have anything to say to you. I had so much. All the words pouring out in a waterfall of emotions, just drowning out my voice in their roar. I didn't know what to say first, and so, I just dumbly smiled an awkward smile at you, and proceeded to talk to everyone but you, knowing you were watching me not talk to you. And, after that day, I never saw you again.
And I want to.
I want to be able to go back to that easy amicability we shared. I want to have you in my life because I want to have that one person who can just make me feel better with a smile, with a shake of your head, with a glint of madness in your eye. I search for you everyday in the broken corners of my heart, and I try to piece you together again. I try to put you back into that place I designated for you, but in breaking, in shattering, you've somehow managed to claim my whole heart.
And I want you to know that. I don't know how to tell you this, I don't know if you'll ever hear this. I don't think we'll ever meet again. And if we do, I just hope I have the courage to tell you this.
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To: JJ / From: Topi
so maybe he doesn't like sex . he doesnt like the way his partner makes him feel . how it feels different when he cums . like a burning , sizzling type of feeling in his gut . the feeling of your throat after puking . he doesn't like the fact that he feels like a babysitter . not really , but still . he is her only friend . her only footing in the whole city . the responsibility it gives him , at only 18 , is too unbearable .
then he thought that maybe once they have sex again , everything will be better . he'll feel lighter .
but now , now in his pyjamas at 2.50 am trying to make himself cum after not finishing with her , he comes to the conclusion that he just fucking hates it . he hates how it feels like a chore . he hates how she is disgusted of his taste and completely forgoes foreplay because of the fact . he hates how he bleeds when her fingers are scratching against his walls but all he needs is just rougher . hates how he keeps saying " please hit me " like a mantra in his head , the same way he does when he masturbates by himself . what's the difference between her pleasuring him versus him pleasuring himself ? both are uncomfortable and unsatisfactory as fuck . he hates how he gets clingy so fast and gets bored just the same way .
he hates how they have sex every time he invites her over and she gets nothing in return . he hates how she keeps insisting on sucking on his bottom lip , even when he says it hurts . even when he says he doesnt like it . he hates how she doesnt understand that he doesnt like kissing . he hates how she tries to " communicate " without talking everyday , but his actions are only being discarded as teasing . he hates being pushed into things . he hates trying to accomodate her . he hates feeling stuck . he hates feeling like he's the only one making an effort . he hates how she touches him . he hates not making a move back , but not wanting to do it . he hates it all .
what does it mean if he doesnt say no first , if he is indifferent , but he regrets the act later ? what does it mean if he feels unclean , dishonest , and impure ?