lucy

there was a week where it was warm with a firmness of a ripe peach, bouncy and soft. where i strutted outside and didn’t sweat and gained satisfaction through the act of shedding rather than gathering. where i slept without air conditioning. i left the windows open and watched the early morning light jostle into corners of my apartment i didn’t know it could reach, streaky shadows of yellow and gray like a film noir movie. there was a week where i romanticized the hell out of everything about my life.

i started wellbutrin and suddenly the world felt a little clearer, rounded at the edges. i settled back into the forgotten dimensions of everyone i used to be; i moved my anthology of ‘time capsule’ playlists from apple music to spotify and made peace with my fossilized ghosts, girls who listened to purity ring and tei shi, girls who listened to drake and saint jhn and so, so much blood orange. they hover around me now, a protective patronus.

in all these days, i am charlie brown, perpetually running after the football, a sisyphean mirage. i am decidedly not an overthinker. on stormy days i can be thoughtless, streams of words that shove my overly calloused foot in my mouth, tasting of bitter flesh. i am thankful to all those who give me grace.

there is still so much time left for us to hurt each other, irreparably. i veer clear of that road. i will always answer a question i know the answer to, even if it was not asked of me. i will always ask the question no one wants to answer. when you picked me up and dropped me, gently, did you know that i had melted in your hands?