just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
In this loud house with obnoxious lighting, you pull me aside when the music gets too loud to talk over. Sat on a ratty couch, your arms spread over the cushions behind us and my heart beats almost right out, into my hands. The only thing that scares me more than you wanting to talk to me is you not wanting to talk to me. This scene feels familiar, the déjà vu hits me, and the replay gives me motion sickness.
I am sat by my favorite tree again, 13 days later. The ground beneath me is still familiar, and so is the smell of smoke, but I am trying to get used to the ache in my lungs. I try not to ruminate on these next three weeks, my least favorite of the year, but it is futile. I feel stuck. I am unsure if I have it in me to turn my pain into some glorious metaphor tonight. The sun sets too early now; they’re each different, sure, but in this moment, it feels all the same. Blue and yellow and orange muddled together until the canvas becomes dark again, like I am used to. I like being used to things. My roommates’ conversations sound foreign, the girl in the mirror is a stranger, I have this weird pain in my left shoulder, maybe I should have gone to my weekly yoga class after all. For 13 days, I was someone different, and 13 days later, I don’t want to know her anymore. I feel stagnant. My to-do list is a mountain and I have no plan for when to climb it, much less how. I am sat outside, on the golf course that has become my second home, hoping desperately to find the place in which my remains are buried, but I’m not even trying. I see no grave and there was never a tombstone to look for, all that I am met with is a rabbit hopping by, that’s new. I don’t like new. The next three weeks shouldn’t feel new, I’ve been through them before and I’ll do so again next year. New, new, new, everything feels new. The girl I once knew would know what to do, but these 13 days have killed her, and funnily enough, there’s still no tombstone to look for. Last week was warm but tonight the weather chills me to my bone; my hands are always cold but I worry my thumbs might actually freeze. These sweatpants were given to me yesterday and my comically large coat has finally made its debut. The growl from my stomach is almost comforting, if only it didn’t pain me in a way I wasn’t used to. I twirl my hair, the same piece I always do, but I just found out it might make it shorter than the rest, that’s new. Everything seems so close, but when I reach out my arms, it is only a gust of wind that greets me, and a magnifying glass falls out of my hands. I didn’t know I was holding that. I don’t know a lot anymore, apparently, and, worst of all, I don’t know if I have it in me to learn again.
I haven’t written in so long. The heels of the world penetrate my back and I cannot help but crumble at the pressure of it all. I am always picking between one vice or another, one love or another, never finding time for both. If I accomplish something in one area it is not without disappointing myself in another.