me and my dreams are at war again. i dream of freedom and summer and school is my prison. every time i look out a window, i feel like running out, in the middle of class, and i imagine how liberating it would be to stretch my arms out wide in open sunlight and then turn around, look into a classroom, and smile.
but every time i look up at blue skies, i question them and wonder when it’s going to rain. because i’m in that kind of state of mind right now; doubting the good and expecting the bad and hoping for a thunderstorm so at least i’d know i wasn’t wrong.
there’s a lot swimming in my head right now, and it’s all drowning; every thought is fighting the other, pushing themselves under as they claw their way to the surface and gasp for something that could be air. i take a deep breath and calm myself down and focus.
but it’s hard to sit in a front row seat of a tragedy and watch helplessly as everything turns to shit. i watch stalk still as a family falls apart. there is nothing more heartbreaking than seeing a mother cry for her child. and i am absorbed and astounded with a sick fascination by the intense amounts of love and hate and strength and weakness. and then she breaks down and i break down and when i get home, i think about homework and it seems so small and unimportant. how am i supposed to do this? how am i supposed to make everyone happy?
and then you walk into the picture and i’m confused all over again. i can’t read you. if you spoke in pictures, they’d be all blurry and hazy and out of focus. i would stop and stare a while and hope for something beautiful, but it always ends in disappointment.
cryptic smiles and secret eyes were never really my thing. i’ve never been particularly good at piecing together a puzzle; i know i have to start at the edges and the corners, and i think i’ve done a good job at that, but it’s the middle part that gets me. all your colours look exactly the same. how do i know which piece goes where?
this is going to take forever.
i’m busy rehearsing for plays and stitching seams and decoding people
and doubting and questioning and loving and hating and hoping and fearing and they want me to focus.
so i make pasta instead of doing what i should.
and it tastes great.
and i regret nothing.