To the girl I met online, who last night, at 12 a.m., poured her sorrow into me as if I was a vessel, thank you. Thank you for trusting a stranger. God knows, that’s hard to do.
And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you’re lost. I know that I am too. With
my plans and ambitions, I am still only looking for a key, because the doors
are all locked, or for a window to shatter and make my escape. I am still
trying to run, though my legs are failing.
Are you running too? Or does the chain of I love you hold you fast?
Love can be an anchor and hold you steady through the storms. But what if
I want to hold myself? I want to plant my feet and stand against the flood, and if it sweeps me away, I’m alright with that. Maybe it will take me somewhere new.
I know the allure of beginnings, the way redemption sparkles
but always stays just out of reach.
I know the suffocation of a small town. I have slept and torn
my way through everyone who once was on my side in a pathetic attempt to keep my bed warm. And yet, it still surprises me to find there’s no one left.
And when I leave, I’ll tell myself that I’m making
a future, but is that really so different from burying the past?
I want it laid to rest. I want to forget.
Forget the year I locked myself inside my pain and built a wall. I constructed cites
from my agony and lived there alone. Tell me, have you ever done that?
Forget the days I begged for the hospital because one more second in my head, and I
was ready to pull that metaphorical trigger
and blow it all to hell.
Forget how I wove a noose out of my thoughts and pulled it tight
around my neck, hoping for the force to stop my breath.
Sometimes, I open my skin and tell myself it’s drawing a map. I could show you
the highways I have carved into my legs, praying one would lead me to
an answer to the question I don’t dare to ask.
Does it ever get better? Does it ever change? Or am I doomed to the monotony of stagnation?
Are you asking these questions too?
For your sake, I would love to answer them, because I get the feeling, just like me, your pulse
is beating to the drum of desperation. You are ready
to crawl out of your skin, hoping to find that all along
it was a cocoon, and you have wings. If I was a savior, I’d make you an angel, but I’m not.
All I can offer in the form of salvation is this, the knowledge fire burned
into my skin.
I know desperation is a cousin of hope, that wanting change is the first step to making it.
And I know there will be hopeless, impossible days, but if you look up at the night sky, you’ll find it glitters with infinity. And know
that some of those stars warm different worlds, that there is so much more than here and now.
I know there’s no such thing as fairy dust. If you want to fly, you’d better start
building your wings.
I know that sometimes, wherever you are, you have to run away, and sometimes that means losing everything. But remember, there’s no telling what you’ll find.
I know I will hold your hand through this maze
if you hold mine. I may not know you, but I love easy and free, and I’ll
give you that love if you ask.
I know I’ve seen too many people fall through the cracks
when they try to go it alone, so don’t. Never feel you have to be a heroine, at least not by yourself, because I love easy, and I love free.
My friendship is here for the taking. Just ask.