The Truth About Me

This one is different.  Because it's late, and I can't sleep, and I'm afraid if I do, I'll forget the way I feel right now, in this moment, when my shoulders hurt and my head is heavy.

I really should be asleep right now.  I've got to wake up in 5 hours for church, and I can't afford to not listen anymore.  I'm trying this new thing where I'm good at church.  So far, there have been no immediate results.  

I have to say some things I cannot say out loud.  Please don't think of me as cheap.  I am not looking for pity or justification.  I really just want to sleep.

1. My first memory is of me telling a lie.  It was the beginning of the nasty habit I still have today.

2. My older sister is the reason I am the way I am.  I didn't want to be like her.  I wanted to be better.  I wanted to not be made fun of.  She's the reason I do not speak.  She's the reason I am insecure.  But she's also the reason I've always loved God. 

3. I've learned some things about my father that I cannot say.  Just know that my heart weeps for him, and because of him.  He is equal parts magnificent and broken.  And I just don't know what to think anymore.

4. The day we lost our house was the day I figured out that some things are better off lost.  And what you want most is the thing you will never know.

5. My life of moving has not made me an outgoing person--it's done quite the opposite.  I can no longer connect to people. 

6. My roommate is unhappy because I'm not enough.

7. I once was a good writer.  I'm not anymore.

8. The people I thought would never leave or forget me have done just that.  And even though I'm used to the feeling, it still sucks.  Being familiar with something is not the same as being okay with it. 

9. I'm pretty sure the reason I can't remember a lot of my childhood is because my mind blocked most of it out.  The reason for this is something only my past knows.   

10. The boy I thought would save me instead broke me down.  And he left a scar on my leg to prove it.

11. I am overly sentimental because nothing in my life is permanent.  Except the disappointment.

12. I will someday be very rich, because I can't stand the fact that my mom wakes up every morning at 4:30 to answer phones.  

13. A part of me will always wait for him.

14. I think I'm losing my mind.

(Pictures from Donald Glover's Instagram)

The Letter I Threw Away

My dearest,

Something exciting ends today.  

The rocks and the salt and the sea and the fresh air end today.

Snow's falling down pretty quick now, and the fishermen are drawing their nets in.  I wonder where you're going for the holidays.

Something really upsetting starts today, and I can only imagine the worst.  These days were once my grace, so now I'm wondering where the mercy went.  

I'll meet you there someday,
Where the sea meets the sun.  

When the guns and the bible don't mean anything to no one. 

My dearest, something terrible will happen today, and I just wish you were here to see it.

Here's Too Forgetting

                                          

I fell for a boy and it was the worst thing I could have done. 

He brushed my hair and then let me down easy, and I think that’s when I knew that I was just like all the other girls.  I was just another misunderstanding.

We were perfect strangers with an incomplete love, yet I still marvel at how we fit together like sprockets and gears.

But someone else was cranking that wheel that made it all burn, someone else was watching and waiting and wondering how it would all work out in the end.  And I’m here to say that it didn’t, because I still see teeth marks on the glass cups in the dining room.  I still hear the ground move. 

And every day I spray the windows and I scrub the already clean dishes, and think about when he used to take my hands and study the bends and lines in them like he was about to take a test. 

I needed you more than you allowed.  Were you even upset at all?  Do you ever think about the tap dancing lessons or the bottom of the sink after you spilled the champagne?  Do you ever listen to that song we both hate, and think about how it’s not as bad when you’re alone?

I do.

And I think that if you gave me the chance, I’d let you take me to Denver.  I’d let you ask me about the scar on my leg, and this time I’d tell you the truth.  

The Blame's On Me

He was interested, and that's why I let him hold me.

Yesterday I spent most of the day running away from lunch tables and leaving fingerprints everywhere.  She told me to smile.  I told her I was.  She told me to smile harder.  

Well, I guess this is it.  This is where we forget the color of each other's eyes.  This is where you stop clinging to my elbow, and telling me that the woman across from us looks just like that girl from Saved By The Bell.  This is where I throw away that one sock you spilled grape juice on.  This is where you and I become you.  And I.

Now, we're those two people that occasionally like each other's Facebook statuses.

And I want to know why he keeps putting his arm around me, like I'm his childhood stuffed in a dress.  Why does he tell me his secrets and his strengths, like I'm not counting down the steps until we reach my front porch.  Like the curls on my head are bouncing just for him.

I want to know why you've left me with nothing but a violin and an empty jar.  I want to know how you could look me in the eyes and forgive me for being rash, forgive me for letting you down, and then tell me that five states is not enough space.

I'll give you five states, in fact, I'll give you the globe.  I'll give you as much as it takes to stop seeing that girl from Saved By The Bell on street corners and in coffee shops.  To stop seeing my own miserable migraine induced delusions plastered across the sides of all the buses in New York City.  I'm tired of that sound my bed makes when it feels the weight of just me.  

It's just me.

And I know I shouldn't still believe in plus signs and ampersands.  And I shouldn't wait around for the train to arrive.  

But your reasons for taking my picture down are all too familiar.

So that's my cue to leave.

Thanks For Listening

I'm sorry it wasn't good enough.

But tomorrow, we'll make our beds and wipe off the counter tops as if nothing has ever happened.
And we'll ignore the constant clicking of our bedside worries.
And our arms will brush aimlessly against the next,

in a detached
and passive way.

And our mothers will cry
and our best friends will not.

And the red light bulb will flash, and we will weep for the memories that eat at our hands.

I will miss your stories and your kindness, and the way you slur your words when you're tired.  I will miss Paris, and the lights.  And the old man who counts the number of people that pass every hour.

I'm sorry this wasn't good enough.  The paths of reality and desire run parallel to each other, but sadly they do not cross.  And that's not anywhere near the apology you deserve, but I don't have a better one to offer.  So this one will have to suffice.

I'm sorry I can't fix you.

I guess I just can't equate.

Who Says We Can't Have It All?

If there's one thing I've learned from high school, it's that the best way to have success in life is to fill your head with apathy.

I can do that.

Walking In High Heels And Not Tripping

I don't recognize a lot of things about my house anymore, not even the easy things like shapes and sounds.  And so many pieces of my room seem to be missing, like the bedside table.  I can't find the grainy surface beneath the unopened bank statements and illegible post-it notes.  Neither can I see the old nail polish stain on the carpet, or the dozens of tiny holes in the wall from countless attempts at filling that enclosing white space.  I feel sorry for doctors, and new homeowners.  The white space can drive you mad.

They expect me to not be so childish anymore.

"Come, Charlotte," they say, "tell us about how the enchiladas turned out.  Tell us about your choice of interesting fabric for these interesting pillows.  Tell us about how much fiber is in your cereal."

To which I'll reply, "Well, from time to time, I really enjoy a big bowl of Fruity Pebbles."

"Oh, I love Fiber One."

They're only waiting for their turn to talk.

What's worse is I cannot remember that beautiful phrase I came upon in that book I finished last week.  I wrote it down, and then accidentally set it on fire while trying to light a candle.  And when I search my mind for any recollection of it, I only come up with a list of the deposits I have yet to pay for my apartment, and all the things I still need to buy before I move out.

And the strangest part is:
The white space no longer bothers me.

"What a fine young woman you've become.
Such a fine woman."