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I try really hard to avoid being my age.
When all the grown ups would just laugh at all our little mistakes it tends to tear holes in you. And what is it anyway? It's not like it's mandatory. It's not like I have to be an imbecile like all the other anxieties lined up against the wall ready to go through the same perfect tragedy in their own special way. Why can't I just look past all that, and have a brain? Do I have to be thirty to have common sense?
I replay so many altered versions of what's to come in my uncomfortable madness. And why is this suddenly so frustrating?
I finally know how they see.
How is it that all this can be so suffocating and yet it's what I need to breathe? How is it that one little distraction can be so distracting? And is it just me, or are people all a little bit different through technology? Why do I need a face so desperately?
This is just a small thought.
So many people, and all at once. I come back to five different lives trying to be a part of mine. But only when I make it. I start to believe that I will have to go through life before I know what it's like to have it happen alone. I don't know where I am. I can't see. I can't breathe. I have to spend a fraction of a day trying so hard just to get a glimpse. Maybe even a word. Maybe even a smile.
No.
When I go, although I've seen in already, it won't be what I hoped. It will be like before, or maybe worse. I don't know what I'm trying yet. What did he mean by maybe? Why does he sound so dry? Why is it that I am finding ashes in the gold? Did I put them there, or did he?
I don't know.
But I know that I'll find out soon enough.
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