“i am a good person,” i start. the entire crowd erupts into laughter. because they know it is a joke. they know who i truly am.
come back soon. to the girl you destroyed.
i’m so sick of sadness.
you must’ve been mine for lifetimes. i must’ve taught you how to read, or ride a bike, or cook, or run. we must’ve met on the streets of ancient rome, or in passing jericho, or selling you a car in london, or teaching you to fight in sparta, or closing your tomb in egypt. i must’ve been your person every single lifetime.
i have bookshelves of dreams. all dying to be the one i choose to live out.
i’m losing myself. can’t you tell?
i am completely fine cleaning up my own mess.
i am terrified of failure. yet right now it is all i can produce.
i’ve finally figured out what makes my life meaningful. it’s the color of leaves right before they fall, the quiet bliss after a friend leaves, the cool rain falling on my skin as i dance, the warmth of the sun wrapping around my body, and the feeling when a plane just takes off and you feel weightless. these are the things that i live for between grief and love and acceptance.
the rage in me has made my humanity scarce. i will not be quiet about it.
i feel you in the sun shining down on my shoulders. in the breeze in my hair. in the tears on my cheeks. in the iron in my blood. in the taste on my tongue. in the scratch on my left shoulder. in bit marks down my neck. in your initial hanging from a chain around my neck.