The Windmill

part one

the windmill, stationary in a field off to the left, the only moving piece was their wings swaying round and round in the wind, creaking about. The wind was cool in the field of corn and wheat. I sat there with my journal and cried my eyes out about another lover. I was always crying by that windmill and in this strange way, they were my only friend. I came there when my brother died. I came there when I felt ignored. I loved the ground. there was a tree there. I sat near it sometimes, when it rained, especially. I didn't want to get wet unless I was prepared with my navy blue raincoat.

i want to live on a farm;
i want to live in the ocean.

i wrote in my journal these two small but powerful sentences. my current life was unsatisfying as i heard a character in The Breakfast Club say. it was true, but i could never tell my ma that. She never let me leave the house except on days i had school and some sundays. Like, this one time my friend invited me to a party and she could pick me up and everything and my mom was home and she said 'no' because it was"too last minute" even though she had no other good reason why i couldn't go. i really wanted to go. nobody's ever invited me to a party or asked their friend if they could invite me and it was the sweetest thing ever.

the windmill creaked again and i saw a storm cloud moving in. i wasn't near the tree at this point but i was sitting on the grass, put my arms back to support me, i let my neck fall back all the way, and looked up. i took a deep breathe in and smiled, as i inhaled nature, ahearing the bird sing, now that was my favorite song. the air felt great; my favorite weather, actually, which was cool wind. i'm not a summer person, in case you were wondering. i know you were asking that in your head, human who's reading this. i love winter but winter sometimes needs to end. new beginnings.

my days are very simple: i babysit. but whenever i can i run to this field and sit near this windmill my only true friend. the windmill listens to me. i talk to the windmill and god out here. i vent all my problems out here as i write in my journal. i bring a little empty backpack in case that aforementioned rain falls from the sky. And, you know, i don't blame the sky for weeping. the world has so much wrong with it, and i weep everyday. i hope the sky is okay.

"Are you okay, sky?" i ask with a tear rolling down my cheek. "I'm here for you".

in case you haven't noticed, i'm a very sensitive human. i care about the sky and nature and i want to make sure that everyone is okay.

i sit here writing this story and i hope i'm not sounding too pretentious or magnifying my personality or faking it; i don't want to sound better in this story than i am in real life but that feels inevitable. i'm a very empathetic human. people say what they're feeling and i start to feel it. its more than sympathy. i feel it. it's a wild experience but that's always how it's been.

i came home one day from visiting the windmill and my bed was warm. i can still remember the heartbreak like a bad dream that i hoped would soon fade. i didn't even use this bed but when i looked at it that's all i could think of: him.

"why can't you just love me the way i am?" i want to ask him,
"why can't you just love me the way i am?" i ask myself.

a lot of poetry comes out of my sadness, i realize. a lot. and i love to write little poems like this one! i wrote this in my journal:

3/5/20
i am the ocean.
i am the waters.
my arms are the waves.
carrying my heart
from one part of the world
to the next. even if only a few feet.
what a new view i'm seeing the world from.
what a beautiful world.
gosh, i hope to see it all.
i am the ocean.

i thought it was lovely—the words i spoke, the words i wrote.
—
blue shirt, rain, a pencil and some paper
3/9/20
i see you. you see me.
im holding my breath, praying you smile.
you look in my direction.
you see the sweat on my brow.

you know im smiling at you.

you see me wishing you'd notice me, but at the same time not wanting to be too obvious about it,

so i look away in hopes you're still staring.
i lift my head.
you're suddenly near me.

"hello" you say softly.
i gasp and take a breath, smile, and say "hello".

and that was the beginning, the beginning of everything.

you are honey and i am the spoon.

🦆
3/16/20
piece of writing called:
"painted my nails
did my make up
in the middle of a pandemic."
—
did my nails
my makeup
my earrings
my clothes
under quarantine
still wanted to feel nice.

i did all this self love, my opinion of what self love could be, at 12 instead of two.
i once went from 10pm the night before to two pm the next day not looking at myself.
then i got up at two and engaged in self love.
my mom wonders why i do my makeup when i'm not going out.
i just want to feel good, when everything else is feeling bad.

3/16/20
"painted my nails, did my make up, all in the middle of a pandemic."
did my nails,
my makeup,
replaced my earrings,
and dressed up in my clothes,
even if all was under quarantine,
i just wanted to feel nice even if no one
outside my family
would see it.

i did all this self love, my opinion of what self love could be, at 12pm instead of two.
i once went from 10pm the night before to two pm the next day not looking at myself. *sigh* i can go a long long time not seeing myself. i ignore mirrors, thusly ignore me but..at 12pm that day, today, i got up and engaged in self love,
self care.

my mom wonders why i do my makeup when i'm not going out.
i just want to feel good,
when everything else is feeling bad.