These days, the place that I exist feels shallow and uncompromising. It hurts like bones hurts like a knee bent for too long hurts like a storm cloud bruise blooming quietly on my thigh. These days, the walls inside my head are painted like my childhood home they are cream-colored and nightmarish. My heart scares me like the ocean does. Both of them big and sad. Both of them blue.
These days, my loneliness is a rain barrel filled by other people, wet wet wet. I seek and destroy new friendships, I run them ragged until my legs give out. I look everyone in the eye except myself. I draw portraits of ghosts. These days I pinch the fat on my body until I can focus on its healing, I eat less, I run less. I give everything away: it is much easier to love than to listen. I keep asking my therapist “when I’ll be fixed”. She keeps reminding me when my hour is up.
These days, I travel a lot. I am going to New York on Saturday. Two days of avoiding my friends in the city and looking solemnly at the Brooklyn Bridge at its height at its purpose at its colossal disappointment. My coffee will taste like Providence. My bed will swallow my body. Predictably, I will walk across Manhattan regretting all of the books I haven’t read all of the moments I have wasted all of the time I have lost. I will listen to a lot of Mutual Benefit. I will wonder where I’m at.
These days, there is a silver streak of hair I look at every morning in the mirror because I am deeply self-involved. When I want to cry on command, I think about his hands braided between mine angry and afraid and in love. These days I don’t sleep. And when I do I dream of flowers scavenging sunlight at dusk, hopeless and wilting, blooming toward nothing. I wake up feeling seen. I wake up alone.
One day, I will be the girl I always thought I was. I’ll be a giant, a moonlight addict, a fat rat on the tracks running running running, an ocean wave. I’ll be a stranger’s mother and someone will love my broken heart on a Thursday night. I won’t waste a single sunrise. One day, I won’t miss my brother’s calls I won’t miss my decadent twenties I won’t miss anything at all. I’ll be strong.
One day, my past will quake and fracture into dust. It will settle quietly like a tomb around me.
Out of it, I will step carefully into joy.