Sunday, January 25, 2015

I want to travel alone. I want to go to distant places, lands unknown, with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar sights. I want to meet their locals and try authentic dishes. I want to walk through the populated streets of China, shoulder to shoulder with its residents. I want to stand under a cherryblossom tree in Japan, get showered with its petals. I want to ride a bike on a deserted street in South Korea. Eat desserts in Paris. I want to experience everything the world has to offer. I want to live, to find myself, to fall in love with the person I will be. I want to be happy. I want to be truly, genuinely, startlingly happy.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

It's thirty nine after midnight, and tomorrow looms overhead, an uninvited forecast of yet another nightmare.

You tell yourself it's fine, you're almost there, you're almost over it. But eight weeks from now, you'll look back and see that you've barely taken a step forward, for your back foot is stuck in mud.

You wish to be able to claw at your brain. To unfold each corner of that great, gray mass, and scrub away every memory you've been trying to get rid of. You wish to shed the skin you're in, to grow a new one, cause maybe then you'll be new, too. Maybe then you'll be you again.

The thing is, you can't. You have to force your eyes shut at night and drag yourself off your bed in the morning and live with the fate you've drawn. You live, knowing that no matter how fast you run or how swiftly you hide, you can't fool your monsters. They are of your own making.

So you live. So you watch sunrise after sunrise, day after day, wishing you were anything else, anywhere else. So you live, with people telling you it's normal to feel, you're human, after all.

You live.

And you spend every minute of it wishing otherwise.