Sometimes like now re-reading a tiny section of Autobiography of Red when Herakles comes up to check on Geryon and Ancash I think I'm crazy. Sometimes I think I'm a little candle about to go out, and never be lit again. Now though I see myself less as a fire and more like a piece of quartz or the spines of the bookcovers on my bookshelf or a yellowed camera lens, and the sun is coming out, with each ray of light slowly pushing out the hurt.
"[Growing up] is hard and nobody understands." // https://www.homestuck.com/story/2391