Resent and Forgive. That’s all I can do. It is a burden to carry and reminisce, it aches me more than it should, and it leaves me free from a leash that was wrapped so tightly around my neck I could hardly breathe or speak. The thought boils my insides and make my teeth grit, but why should I punish myself when you have punished me enough? A simple inhale and a simple exhale. It’s dead to me.
There is no set home for me. I can sleep on a stranger’s couch, crash on a man’s bed, or even sleep in my own, but there is no difference to me. I can relish in masses of food dancing on my tongue or I can peck away at a cracker for the day. I can drive miles for hours without a sight on where I am headed, but wherever the wind takes me, I will still manage – the further, the better. The few belongings I need reside in my car in a little bag, and the only other weight I have to carry is wondering what lies ahead of me. It is a sense of freedom and adventure, going day by day, not knowing what comes next. It is the strong adaptability to visit different atmospheres and feel a shifted version of new. All the resources are available, and all I have to do is keep going. There is more to the world than the same streets of Willow and Herndon or the same faces in this same old town. I am not caged like an animal or chained like a prisoner. I am a person without a destination.
I am feeling better, and this time I mean it. I can say good morning without it being a lie, and I can get out of bed without it being the only thing that used to comfort me. Today is a new day, different from any other, to inhale the air to fill my lungs and to exhale the toxins that have been lingering in me. Each breath replenishes me, bettering myself. I am no longer alone because I feel alone. I am no longer alone because I feel alone in sandwiched between people. I am alone, counting each day as a blessing to find another opportunity to figure out who I am. I used to avoid mirrors, dreading what I would see. But mirrors are true and reflect, but not in a sense that makes me regret ever looking at one, but amusing in the fact that every mirror has a different light, shining different parts of me, never being the same. So maybe when I see a mirror, maybe shutting one eye or turning my head will make me see something different. I am not a fixed image to the eye. I used to cry, thinking it was a sign of weakness, but it was really the outcry of relief, allowing the salt burn the wounds and cleanse them. It was a release of pain, making room for more joy to flood in. My heart rhythmically pumps blood, carrying life to my fingertips and lips, not holding back because it is ferocious and hungry for life to continue. Today is a new day. Today is a good day.
There’s something fucking beautiful and magical about being so in love with someone, and it somehow becomes even more special when you can’t be together because then you know it’s not the relationship or title that binds the two together, but the two souls who constantly want to be in tuned with each other. It feels like the end, but I know this love will not leave me.
365 days ago, the passage of walking across an unstable, deteriorating bridge began. The perilous bridge screamed in dismay, warning me not to take the first step, nonetheless the second, or the third; the bridge knew it would crumble and cause me to plummet into my own disaster decision-making, swallowing me whole until I am nothing. But 365 days ago, everything in me already felt dead. I had nothing else to lose. I continued to look forward and took my first steps, not looking back. My knees clang together like glass beer bottles near to shattering each other. Although I was frightened, I continued to walk. Somehow, I found myself halfway through the rocky bridge and before I know it, the last few planks are in clear view. By then, I was torn to scraps. Breath heavy, muscles fatigued, and my mind raced in desperation for silence. My foot lands on the last plank, and my other foot grazed the scraping cliff, and my body defies gravity. I put myself in this position, so I accept the consequences to my mistakes. Yet I miraculously became entangled with the rustic ropes, and I am able to climb up the splintered wood to the edge of the mountain. Glimmering off the blooming petals, the cliff blossoms with tranquility. Life continues to flourish and my heart beats dramatically in my chest. I look back to the bridge. Never again.
I cannot seem to feel anything anymore. It is as if the sun shines everywhere else, intentionally avoiding the touch of my skin, and the clouds have been too occupied showering a flood when I am panting for a sprinkle. I miss the stomach-aching laughter that seems to come so easily for everyone else, and even the pain of being stripped away of everything. I have grown accustomed to life around me that it all feels dead. My soul feels empty; perhaps there isn’t one.
I am not butterflies and rainbows. I am not happy all the time and I sleep in when I can. I eat cookies at 2am and spill drinks like a woman without fingers. I am terrible at singing and probably suck at conversation. I have a dark sense of humor and I can be really mean. I mix sodas and take off onions on everything. I am messy. I am a mess. But I can love with a whole heart. And if that isn’t good enough, then that is okay. Because I am who I am. I may better myself, but at the end of the day, I am still the girl taking each day step by step.