my grace is especially lacking today. my inspiration for characters, and tales of hearts seems to not exist anymore. and here i am, longing for a past that had left me without a future. its really funny how that can work. plenty of hands were in view when i was drowning then, but none reaching towards me, instead they all steadily waved in a nonchalant manner as if to suggest the gesture itself were some entirely ridiculous and tedious task. nevertheless, i swam to shore pulling my body out of the water, using my bruised knuckles for support. “we’ll both love again,” i had said when i caught myself avoiding thoughts of you alongside another. “it just wont be with each other.” i would say to ease the sting. like a film directed by oliver stone, it seems like the only trait of my former- and far better self that partially remains is my completely irrationally scattered mind. it all trails together though, in some sort of collective chaotic harmony. and thats whats bullshit; even my insanity is organized and color coordinated to induce minimal inspiration these days. but just now, i get a glimmer of hope that somehow i’ll escape - i’m rubbing my eyes infront of the mirror in my granny panties and an exboyfriends tshirt in my infamous “fuck it, time to face the music and look at yourself allee” posture. i gaze into myself, peering at my blotchy naked face, my healing tattoo, and then i realize it, my hair is growing. the hair i cut off nearly two years ago has finally grown. its to my collar bones, and my beautiful waves are finally there again. im seeing myself all over again. im thinking of how i felt then, when i shed it all, like i lost a part of myself. i did it only do it to look like her, afterall. and here i am - now, looking at that part of me growing back. and i sit there, and think. am i finally healing? this thought amplifies the here and now, and i pace in circles; repetitive - they begin and end in the same place, but somehow seem to be particularly aimless. i start to realize one by one that i have made all the same mistakes with you. i wander away and collapse into bed with maggie. and for what seems like a millenium, i hesitate to answer as many times as i ask it “am i truly happy?” happiness to me before you meant the occasional loneliness, mended by a good film, and a tub of mint chocolate chip. sadness cured by maggie’s snuggles and snores in the morning. happiness was found in a good meal, and better music. or a bubble bath with the lights off and a candle burning. getting lost is only getting lost, if there is no one to find you. and i’m starting to think maybe i want to get lost…
