its too early on a friday for me to be crying

ganseys-epi-pen:

adam parrish grew up without love or kindness. adam parrish grew up with a jar of pennies and nickles he found on the ground, and ended up surrendering to his mother when he saw her crying over an electric bill. adam parrish grew up with a father he thought was the world, who had back pains he drank and drank and drank for, who saw something in adam that he didn’t like, and slowly he beat the love out of adam parrish.

adam parrish thought he was dust. it was the color of his skin, his hair, his home. nothing about him was shiny or new. he snatched pencils off the ground when he saw them, he didn’t make many friends. adam parrish thought that he was desolate ground that love couldn’t grow in. adam parrish thought his soil composition was all wrong.

adam parrish prayed that he would never break a bone, never crack a tooth. adam parrish walked lightly for fear of causing the same damage his father did after a long day of work, a bad headache, a traffic jam caused by an agonbly boy’s car crash. adam parrish looked enviously a boys with spring in their step, who were clearly not running on a stomach half full of shitty ravioli from a can and beans, a stomach that hardly ever knew dairy because it was expensive.

adam parrish looked at boys lounging on their cars and felt envy. envy that they could so effortlessly drive around, not a clue what was under the hoods, that they could own something that ran smoothly and never get grease under their fingernails. adam parrish had to bike everywhere, and one day, running on too little food and too little sleep and too much sress, he saw he king of all boys, the boy he should absolutely loathe for his money and glory, standing in front of a broken down orange monster. it was so human, so familiar, that he stopped, and called out to him.

adam parrish had friends. it was shocking to him, a boy who thought that he was made of dirt and dark, hot pangs of jealousy, that there were people who wanted to be around him, that there was a boy with a tattoo who stared at him like he was every beautiful thing. he felt like a fake person, a cheap knockoff. they treated him like he was the real thing. adam parrish had thought that his heart was all cracked, barren earth. and then a forest grew from it.