A Manuscript From Midnight

Monday Night Prose

Monday Night Prose

If my words fade,

If my name chips away,

If the light no longer shines,

Where will I be?

I wish I could just go back in time and tell myself that everything will be okay.

I wish that I wasn't constantly thinking about every other decision that I could've made or could've done or that I could've thought of: even if there was nothing I could've changed.

I wish that I wasn't constantly haunted by my mistakes. Shaping me. Telling me that I'm not good enough. That I'm not worth it. That nothing I do matters.

I wish I could go back to the time when the trees were still tall and full of life, their leaves still green, the soil still smelling damp. When the earth was soft under my feet, and not solid like the hard stone concrete of the present.

I wish I could go back to my childhood and tell myself to make the most of my time.

I wish I could tell myself to not care about what the other kids thought about me to do what I wanted to do. To talk to the lady bugs, hug the trees, go on bike rides, explore, read, do everything I wanted to do back when things were simpler.

I wish I didn't have to think about the future now. To be honest, I didn't think I would have to: the future always seemed so far away, so distant. But the future is creeping up on me.

It's there waiting for me: I can almost touch it. It's tantalizing, I can feel it, but I almost don't want to. I know I have to go forward; I have to move. I have to do something.

I wish I didn't know that I had to change: it's so much easier to just sit here and write my little passages. Listen to my scratched records. Water the plants. Live a simple life. Stay.

It'd be so much easier to stay.

Just hide away from everyone and everything in the world.

That's the thing that I struggle with: people.

Connections scare me. What if I mess it up? What if I say the wrong thing? What if I'm not as good as I want to be? What if I'm not enough?

See, I have a whole world in front of me. I can go onto the stage. I can see it: face the audience, hear the anticipated applause. View the spotlight, already on: they're just waiting for me to step into it. Because I feel like whatever I do, whatever I see, i have to keep myself together, even if no one cares.

Is that better?

Is it worse to think the world of myself and fall short?

Is that what the sun feels like: shining bright, knowing that it won't last?

Nothing is permanent, I hope even the universe knows that.

Sure, love, hope, messages live forever. But I think I'm just destined to be a messenger.

Forever passing along notes, words, and thoughts, never being certain who they'll reach.

There's only so much a page of calligraphy and sheet music notes can do.

There's only so much I can leave behind. Is that how people will remember me: as someone who left things behind? I never thought I'd get left behind. I always thought I would be the one to leave, to go, to move forward. But I never did. I lingered and stuck myself to everything and anyone I could. Familiar things. Nothing new.

I feel like everyone is in a foot race and I'm being lapped over and over and over again. Seeing people reach their milestones, pass the finish line, move on, and I'm still stuck. Hearing the gunshot. Seeing the people run. Not knowing that I'll never catch up.

At the end of the day I'm scared. I'm terrified of loving someone and seeing them leave me. I'm terrified of going forward because I don't know what I'll face: I don't know what's ahead of me. I don't know if I want to know. But I suppose I'll have to go forward. I can't go back. I can't go to the side. it's meaningless for me to stay. It'll cause more pain in the long run. I don't wanna cause more pain. I already feel enough. every time something goes wrong or someone gets hurt, I feel it.

Empathy is a funny thing. Kids are always told "put yourself in their shoes" and to "feel what they're feeling". I always try to. I think I've gotten too good at it. I feel like I've lived a thousand lifetimes. Gained everything. Lost everything. Felt every experience that so many people struggle with. So many emotions that I can't even describe in words.

I don't even know what I'm feeling. I could tell you what my neighbour feels. I could tell you about a couple who argue every night, but stay together because they have to, or at least they feel they have to. I could tell you a story of a boy who felt so alone, so he flew to the sky. I could tell you about my friends. I could tell you about me, but I'm not sure if anyone wants to hear my story.

A Biography- that's funny.

I never thought I'd live long enough to have someone write about me. Maybe I will, that is, tell my story. It's not pretty. Not full of euphoric sunrises or crisp mountain air. It's a story of being alone. Of feeling lost. Of not knowing who to turn to or who to trust. It's a story of digging in the dirt trying to find who you are and uncovering too many things that you never wanted to be known. My story isn't finished yet. I hope one day someone tells it.

-❀Oleander✿