A timeline of inner feelings. Kind of.
September 5, 2016:
“I want to be inside you,” he texted me.
I had never even met this man, and he did not realize he already was inside me – just not the way he was hoping for. He had so much more.
His voice curled up in my ears at night, and I slept dreaming of him. He was inside my thoughts, under my eyelids, and had found a way to make my stomach squirm without ever touching me.
April 3, 2017:
I am angry. It almost hurts to admit this, because my red-swirled anger flares pink at the edges, like the halo of a lights in the darkness.
I am angry, but not just at you. I am hateful towards a small fragment of myself that thinks about you too much, because it is holding a knife to my lungs. Every inhale pricks. But I suppose it makes more sense now why it hurts to breathe when you’re around (and when you’re not) and when I only want quiet and so I resort to holding my breath.
That is a whole new ache that reminds me of times that you’ve left me–bored or driven away or maybe angry, yourself. And so we sink into ephemeral anger, and we let it simmer as we lick our wounds across the room, across the state, across the country.
We will never exist together. It has taken me too long to discover this, and for that I am ashamed.
April 29, 2017:
I will build my house atop a mountain that only the toughest can scale. That way, I will be safe.
May 3, 2017:
We trade stories like currency without understanding their value. Those words strung together carry pieces of our souls, cupped between the vowels and entwined in consonants. They are how you learn a person from top to bottom, inside and out.
I don’t think you understood the impact of my memories, coasting around the silence between us. In the echo of my voice, the rebound of eternal quiet, I wondered if you had ever paid attention to the little things.
May 20, 2017:
I drive by birds hunting for worms and it makes me think of the cruelty of nature.
Sometimes, I am the bird, fierce and hungry.
Sometimes, I am the earth, the living pieces of me pulled out violently: stretching, snapping, dying.