how long she's waited for, she wanted more

I think there's something wrong with me during this time of year. I'm trying my hardest not to go crazy and meltdown simply because my baking adventure went wrong. I put too much butter and eggs and my cookies flattened, so did my mood. 

I have this bad habit of feeling worthless if I mess up or don't do things perfectly. Even small things like baking will pull me down, because then I think about the time wasted, the ingredients I used up just to fail, the hopes I had just to not live up to it. I know it's a trivial situation to be upset about, but when little affairs of misfortune happen, it unveils the bride of facade. Tripping on a pebble opens a wound that won't stop bleeding. 

I'm a sucker for metaphors and girls I can't have (again or ever). I don't love her anymore, but I mourn what she was to me. I miss the way her laughs made me nervous, how her smiles melted me, her cries crushed me. I'm sorry we didn't escape our parents' fates. Distance made our situation unique, and so did our identities, but it still ended the same. I swipe on girls but run away when they try to know me. I get hypnic jerks if somebody compliments me as deeply as you did. The end of you feels like a phantom limb. I know there was something there, but now the proof is gone, and the two kids that began this path have become unrecognizable. I can't even put my thoughts into comprehensible words because I have no instructions on how to live again after this. 

Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and then the new year a week after. I have to listen to holiday songs and watch movies in order to ignite that candle who's wick is blackened. Maybe this is called growing older, maybe it's mental illness. Maybe sometimes I should just shut up and stop trying to push the waves back. Sometimes I truly want to sleep the rest of my life away, at least I won't feel behind that way, but I'll be behind in age permanently.