Who is this
She's been crying for days. Everything goes on like nothing's changed and the ants that have infested this pulsing life globe live on; they move along like the sun's still out and the sky's still blue, and she cries, refusing to join the crowd.
The pain resurfaced a few days back, thundering out in anger until it became soft sniffles, little rumbles; a slow stream of droplets that keep on coming; it does'nt stop.
And the girl who sits in the house at the kitchen table, dry but cold inside -she wonders when the sky will end its tears.
Because until the clouds dry up she doesnt feel like cracking a smile. She's so so lost, her face as blank as a clouded sky.
Its her favorite thing, gloomy days. She's always liked the rain.
Yeah. She does like that. She remembers that.
Her second favorite thing is warm autumn days; with all the oranges and the browns and the pumpkins and the leaves and the childish fun.
It reminds her of the days where light was a feeling and heavy was a thing.
Where a stone was an object to launch into a stream and not a rock lodged in the pit of her stomach.
Where a game made people laugh instead of cry.
Where life was full and we all lived outside
Not trapped in our houses and in our minds.
She's learning about life and where she fits. She's trying so hard to be a One, a seperate from the rest, trying so hard that she's losing her goals, losing her way; she's obsessed with this pedestal version of herself, this goddess of strength and independance and difference that she ignores who she really is, because she wants she wants she wants this unreachable perfect version of what could be.
She's losing herself by trying to find Her Self.
For a long while she was lost in a sea of things she was never meant to be, and one day, its as if someone kicked her awake from a deep slumber;
WAKE UP
And she did. And she looked around and could'nt see where she was, why she was, who she was.
what had she become?
As she sat at the kitchen table, arms deep in a life she realised she never wanted, she began to cry. Everything was wrong, it was all backwards, it was'nt in the right order. When the cries became sniffles she thought of all the things she liked, all the things she knew for sure. She made a list of her favorite foods, her favorite colors, her favourite things.
And she decided to try again.