to stay or to go?
My hands are wrapped around my coffee. It’s in a to-go cup because I never wanted the mug. I think of my counter composter next to my reusable bag collection, my monthly bus pass, and my goodwill jacket. I never intend to stay, I guess. I never want to be tied down if I decide to go. How are you? You ask.
Look up. Look up I say. My head is in the dirt. Look up. Worms are crawling in my ears through my head. Look up. Please look up. I’m in a field- maybe cotton or wheat. My head is full of worms. I want to look up. I’m trying. I’m drowning. The mud is caking my lungs, it’s holding me down.
When I opened my eyes, it was to colors and shapes surrounding me. I would love to give you a concise picture of what I saw, but there truly isn’t a way. Imagine the worst acid trip you’ve ever been on, now multiply that by infinite. I couldn’t tell what was up or down, if I was looking left or right. There was no space where the colors ended, and I began. The shapes of my eyes were the shapes of crabs were the color of storms. I tried to gauge something static, compact, but all I could see was the overwhelming connection.
- Top Story - September 2023
End of Chapter. No Epilogue Included. Top Story - September 2023
And then I dropped out. After all of that- the tears, the all-nighters, the highs, the lows- I finally made it, and then I left. Even writing about it now, knowing that it all works out in the end, squeezes my heart like nothing else. It’s funny how life is: unpredictable despite your planning and painful despite your hope.
To be unhappy, in a world like this. I am greeted every morning with light and a song; the flowers bloom. My mother calls me, she wants to know how I’m settling in- she says my dad misses me. My friends are so kind, telling me I matter. The dog across the street wags his tail when he sees me. Oranges, butterflies, music. The poetry in my phone describing emotions I couldn’t begin to understand. Words, touch, the smell of wild lavender on the walk home. Being able to sleep when I’m tired, to eat when I’m hungry and enjoy it, to shower when I’m cold. Me and my sister laugh over the phone, and I get to see her grow. I get to grow too.
Red pill or blue pill? If you had to choose, had to decide a life of knowing or a life of finding out, which would you pick? If you had to book a ticket, where would you go? If you had to stay or had to leave, which would you do? Red pill or blue pill? Red or blue?
Sometimes, I run down the street with no shoes on while it’s raining. Sometimes, I scream when I do it. I live on a busy street, so it’s not always the smart thing to do. But I’ve never been someone to make the smart decisions. At this point, anyone should be glad I make decisions at all. Because if I don’t make the decisions to run shoeless on pavement in the middle of a storm, then what else is there? The feeling of the sky soaking you fundamentally. Washing away anything you’d like: tears, mascara, memories- it’s opening your arms and lungs and hoping there will be enough of something to fill you up.
I wonder how people write. I wonder how they look at something and understand it so intrinsically that they can do the impossible and describe it to me. How do you describe a sunset? How do you describe loss? How do you show me something that isn’t there?