She felt like she was drowning, being pulled under by waves. Except the sea wasn’t made of water. It was made of hopelessness and despair. No matter how fast she could swim, the dark flood always pulled her back inside.
I wanted to write down exactly what I felt. But somehow, the paper stayed empty. And I could not have described it any better.
When I was younger, I’d put my arms in my shirt and told people I lost my arms. Would restart the video game whenever I thought I was going to lose. Slept with all my stuffed animals as a child so none of them got offended. Had that one pen with 4 colors, and tried to push all the buttons in at once. Poured soda in bottle caps and pretended to take shots. The hardest decision was choosing which Nintendo game to play, or choosing which Barbie to dress up. Waited behind the door to scare someone. Faked being asleep, so I could be carried to my bed. I used to think the moon followed my car. Went on the computer just to paint. Watching two drops of rain roll down and pretending it was a race. The only fake friends I had were invisible ones. Swallowed a fruit seed and I was scared to death that a tree will grow in my tummy. I thought bruised knees and elbows were bad, until I experienced my first heart break. After all, bruised knees healed faster. Remember when we were kids and we wanted to grow up? What the hell were we thinking.
“So that’s it then? You make me fall for you without the intention of catching me, I let you in and trusted you with all my heart and you just abandoned me like it never meant a thing, you expect me to just be able to go on with my life like nothing ever happened, like there was never an ‘us’ back to where we started…As strangers.”
“You really want to know what happened to us? I was sick of dealing with all your confusion. Half of the time what we had was amazing. You gave me butterflies and I was so comfortable around you. But that was only half the time. One day you loved me and the next it was like you couldn’t even stand to be around me. I opened my eyes, and realized that I don’t deserve someone like you and honestly, I feel sorry for the next girl because she will be left broken like I was.”
I’m not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 a.m. , I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks. I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin, it has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.