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I miss you. I was lurking a stupid invite to a stupid local show with stupid local bands on facebook and saw that you were invited to it. I thought, “whoever invited you must be such an asshole that they’d literally invite ANYONE to their stupid show in hopes to get famous.” But seeing your profile photo and name right there got me curious. 

It’s a shame, you know? I thought about you every single day, multiple times a day, and I thought it was horrible that no one talked to me about you anymore. Even when I tried to talk about you, people would just brush it off; find something else to discuss. Now I feel like I’m becoming one of them. I don’t think about you as much as I used to. Maybe five minutes out of my day, once a week. It’s not right. You better not fucking fade away from me. I already feel guilty for it. 

I clicked to your profile and saw a bunch of posts from your mom. (I bet she still thinks about you everyday. I hope so. I don’t talk to her, so I don’t know.) As I scrolled down, I saw a beautiful illustration.. It was you. In colors red and blue and white and grey. She did a perfect job. The painting looked EXACTLY like you, before you got your tattoo. I couldn’t fathom any other words to comment other than “perfect.”

A few nights ago, I was having a breakdown. Over losing you, and losing Tyler. It was almost 6am and the stars were shining, as I was sitting in my driveway in a ball with my cigarettes. I had been getting into these habits of naming stars after people I cared about, secretly. I found a star that suited you well, it was one of the brightest (I don’t usually concentrate on the brighter stars) and I whispered, “Lisa” in my head. I thought now would be a good time to play some Nirvana for you.

I stared up at the starts wishing to see a shooting star to tell me that you’re okay, wherever you are. I watched for a good 20 minutes, and the sun was starting to show its light. I gave up and faced the opposite direction. I took a hit of my cigarette, and through my blurry, puffed up eyes, I saw an ember fall from the tip of it. It looked just like a shooting star. I actually smiled, in the midst of my self-titled crisis. 

I’d just like to know.. Was that you?

Also, I still want to get a Ouija board and try it out on my own, without you, this time. I want to talk to you so badly and maybe just get some closure? Well, I’m working on it. 

Sweet dreams, faggot.

ghostes:

(by alison scarpulla)

Looks like something Lisa would do <3

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s3xnoise:

Sigh

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I just realized that I relapsed the night that she killed herself.

Jesus fuck the least you could’ve done was told us. Gave us some sort of warning. This is a dream. A bad trip. Dali can’t get anymore surreal as this.
You. You you fucking you. You were a piece of art. A role model. A beauty.
You confused the shit out of me but at the same time I understood you.
Obviously not enough.
Fuck.
I fell asleep in your fucking arms. I’ve never done that with anyone else in my life.

But she stayed ironic till the end, a bottle of fucking aspirin.

philosophy-in-anarchy:

You were a victim of circumstance, as we all are. You were selfless, you were always helping everyone around you with all of their problems, no matter how hard, or how pitiful, you made it your goal to fix us. And you did. But you tried to cover up your own monsters. You immersed yourself in more…

Goddamn fucking shit fuck I’m crying. This is so upsetting. She’s all I’ve been thinking about.

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I feel like we could’ve been something. Like I could’ve saved you.

So fucking relevant.

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