[ then she turns away; it happens every day. ]
Because blissed-out photoposts are how I’d like to remember this time, but that’s hardly accurate, here are some things:
Today marks the first time in months that I didn’t sing in the shower. It snowed today, but I walked outside listening to my spring mix & wishing for the world to melt, already, because really, it’s time for spring. I still cry every day for Highsmith Guy, even if I’ve mostly stopped talking about him. All I do anymore, when I have free time, is to stare speculatively at the ceiling & read poetry. I owe Rick Chess so much right now for making me read poetry again. My suitemates moved out, & we built a glorious fort in their vacated room, which is a handy escape. I miss my mother. I am way-wary of starting birth control, but here goes. I am obscenely lucky, just to know the people in my life. Sometimes, I wouldn’t mind being fifteen again, even if I was a mess, even if I don’t look back. Harriet the Spy (the book, not the movie) is even better at nineteen than it was at nine. Yesterday, I really wanted to be fucked by someone who would never find me beautiful - not a specific someone, but anyone who would be vocal about despising me - & though the urge has passed, I have basically been terrified ever since. The nightmares are back. I wrote a story for my creative non-fiction workshop that made four people in my class cry, including an ex-nun who said it made her feel less alone, which was pretty much the most gratifying thing ever. I have reason to apologize to everyone I have ever known. I have Ricky Martin’s “Private Emotion” stuck in my head, & I bet no one else even remembers that song, huh? I miss you, and you, and you. I am really easily startled & just cried because Ali surprised me by coming into my room & hugging me from behind while I had headphones on. I worry that I have lost the best thing about me, & have no idea how to go about getting it back. The sky is bruise-colored tonight & I can’t see the stars but I am trying.
Current Mood:
sad.
