7.2.23, or nothing left but my left eye
fun fact number one: nobody ever told me I was brave.
clever, yes. responsible, of course. kind, all the time. nice. easygoing. organized. determined. disciplined. well-behaved.
brave, not so much. bravery is saved for people like my brother. you can see it in his eyes, this sort of fire trembling in warm colors.
I'm the sensitive type, so they say. I feel too much. too often. I suffer for both the undoable and doable and breathe in every sickness around me just so I can call them my own. I have cool-colored water eyes -nothing like my brother's. it's alright.
fun fact number two: my irony bites me back.
since words are my only weapon and I wield my sarcasm as a shield, you'd maybe expect it to tend for me a little bit. it doesn't. it laughs behind my back and burns my own venomous tongue before any spells are cast. mediocre, at best.
fun fact number three: bathroom stalls remain weeping-boxes long after high school.
they only take different colors and slightly different shapes. the hospital ones might be the worst. I suppose sick people have very quiet footsteps, and it's extra hard to hide from something when you can't even perceive where it is. duly noted, though, how interns behind desks tend to pretend not to notice swollen faces and red eyes. classic tattle-tales of despair.
funny funny funny how the dread feels as if I'm a small teenager again, but now my mother mails me job offers and I sign my own papers. funny funny funny how I still cry the same, quiet, only with longer hair and heavier body. funny funny funny with new punchlines for the same twisted jokes. do they still all revolve around me?