a/n: not sure where i pulled this from. i've been suddenly compelled to write lately, which i've attributed to the many prose blogs that i've started following on tumblr. anyway. this is a thing that i wrote. reviews are appreciated. also the title and description is from mumford and sons. okay bye.


My mom has been saying lately that I spend too much time in my head. I try to ignore her when she says it; it hurts my feelings and I like it up here in my thoughts.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and just stand in the center of my room, staring at the wall and wondering what's wrong with me. Something's broken and I can feel it, it's dangling around inside me, ready to snap. I wonder what will happen when it finally does.

I used to know this boy with baby blue eyes and soft chestnut hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He would walk with me to school every morning, offer to carry my books and laugh at all my jokes. His smile was sweet and his words even sweeter. Once he kissed me; he brushed his lips over the apple of my cheek and told me I was pretty.

One day he stopped coming to school. The teachers never said anything, but the kids in the halls whispered suicide.

People can look normal; they can walk and talk and act happy and have the loveliest eyes, but they can be all mangled up and broken inside, the kind of broken that can't be fixed, and you'd never know because of those eyes.

I told my older brother this once, and he looked at me really quietly for a long time before he asked me if I was talking about myself. I never answered him; I was never sure.

So I'll just stand here staring at the crack in my wall and wonder if I can make myself small enough to crawl up inside of it and spend the rest of my days there, nestled in the wall, warm and safe and alone with my thoughts forever.