The four of us drew a picture.
Sometimes I forget to count myself. Last night, no one was an extra. Nothing was the way I thought it was going to be.
All of us had fun. Each of us contributed.
I see every one of them on this graph paper. I can hear the music we shared. Our voices. Laughter and shenanigans.
The wooden chair sound effect.
We looked up and the sky had cleared for us. Time didn’t flee from us.
Nothing hurt. One thing broke.
I hope my friends slept well.
I’ve never let anyone care for me. Nobody knows how to, and I don’t expect them to–I’m a complex mess. No one takes care of me like I do. Even when I had someone who was, to an extent, supposed to, I didn’t trust them to support me. It was more about healing them, preserving myself, buried under their needs in the process. This is why I do not set expectations. To avoid disappointment. It’s safer to be alone. The moment you put faith in something out of your control you risk losing all progress. If someone lets you down, there’s nothing to be done. Depend only on yourself and you will grow strong. Disappointment will be your source of improvement, all within you.
Monday, Jan.16th 2017
This is why I never date things. If I write the date first it changes the tone. I never know how to start after that because every thought follows the date, instead of just jumping right in.Usually it doesn’t matter after that.Sometimes I look back, I can remember the feeling and maybe even where I wrote it. Time is a lie, dates aren’t real, so whatever.
Sometimes I date things after I write them, that’s nice-ish. A lot of the time I leave it because I know I’ll go back and add things–I like to write the times on these days.
I don’t know why I’m writing all of this down now. I know I do that and this seems like the kind of pointless thing I might tell someone I am close with. This is the kind of small thing I want to know about. Something as insignificant makes me fall in love. It also makes me deeply sad that most of the people I know wouldn’t give two shits about this.
Where is the appreciation? Where are the tiny things special to someone besides me? I feel like Carrie Bradshaw when I end things in a question that cannot be simply answered.
I’m Chuck Bass.
and nobody cares.
Love will not make you the person you want to be.
Be more for yourself.
Get dressed for yourself.
Make yourself smile and be your own source of light and laughter.
Be proud of yourself.
Everything you need is already with you.
Darling, you are doing so well.
I believe in you.
These are the types of nights I want to remember. These are the moments that fill my shitty indie-movie life story. I need to remind myself to spend more time with the good ones. Be with people that make you feel there. Drink disgustingly sweet fruit juice with vodka, watch that show that makes you think about stuff and feel weird. Talk about the small things, the spider-bites and people you appreciate. Share music and experience.
“Did you grow up seeing those a lot?” He points to the smoke-trail remains of where planes once flew overhead not too long ago. I think for a moment before I reply. “Yeah, I’ve always lived pretty close to one airport or another.” It’s quiet for a moment, we both drag our cigarettes and he speaks again. “I mean, I grew up in the middle of nowhere.” Another drag. “I didn’t see a lot of those before I started going to school.” Neither of us say anything until we go back inside. I smiled. It wasn’t a significant conversation but it felt more genuine and decent than talking has in a long time. This is why Reece is good to spend time with.I always liked airplane trails.
I like the early morning when the sun isn’t quite up yet but the light is already out. I love spinach and I hate oreos. I’d rather be blind because I love the sound of rain, crumbs getting sucked up by a vacuum, and really big windchimes. When I was a kid I used to love birds–I would watch them all the time because I thought maybe if I spent enough time with them I could learn how to fly. I love flying. I love swingsets and airplanes. I’m afraid of elevators. Christmas makes me deeply sad but it’s the only holiday. I do things I wouldn’t do because I want people to like me. I ask questions because I like to know people. I like thinking maybe everyone else is as lonely as I am, maybe other people just want to be listened to and have someone know those dumb things that don’t really matter but actually make a person who they are. Nobody really plays the game back with me, I don’t think anyone puts that much thought into it.
Anxiety is in my knees (sometimes they shake), my bladder tenses.
Fear is home in that small place between my stomach and my chest.
Anger is felt in that one neck vein, it bulges. Hatred makes my thighs burn, my throat clenches.
Love takes hold of my lungs, internal organs float up and my ribs tingle on the sides.
Sadness weighs down on my cheeks.
Joy is found in my ankles, the balls of my feet.