you are not alone
“BoJack: Life’s a bitch and then you die, right?
Diane: Sometimes.
Sometimes life’s a bitch and then you keep living.
BoJack: Yeah.
Diane: But it’s a nice night, huh?
BoJack: Yeah.”
The sun dove six hours ago, but you still sense its burn on your skin. Inside the solace of your space, you shed your armor. You trace the imprints, both seen and unseen. You wait for the pressure to ease. Cell by cell. Into atoms.
Voices overlap in your ears, of those who raised you. Wished to change you. Until they turned into your own. Raised tempos and steely menacing tones.
You grip your phone and the tremor in your hand recedes. It offers options.
Feelings rise like tides on a full moon night. Its golden shadow stretches on the crests — infallible. Brushing spells on tempestuous, inky black surfaces.
The world’s a little blurry. So much of it is confusing. Angering. Rudderless. It’s hard to describe how much effort surviving takes. That its ache prevails. You think about roads not taken, the ones you left behind, seared to a crisp.
You switch on music. With a little static. It submerges all the warning signs.
A cognitive corridor opens without a click. Seems too glossy to be concrete. It could let you down tomorrow, or in this instant. It’s only a matter of time. You pace it, because of the one thing that fades your soul more than trying.
Not trying.
You miss someone. The way you were. The soft focus of them, in your head. But you remember reality, all too well. The thrill and void of messy passion.
Focussing on your steps slows your mind and you feel the juncture rushing. Towards you. The balmy embrace of something real. Few original thoughts. This is the scene you’ve been waiting for since morning, glued to eyelashes.
Hold them. Rotate them into words. View paint strokes. Take hazy captures.
It won’t be dark again. Properly. Not until tomorrow. When you’re out there, recognize this place. This you. All that you’ve conquered. Built with resolve.
They call you negative, a pessimist. But you’ve never dragged anyone down. Hurt for sport. Called someone weird for not fitting in. Laughed at scrapes. Made them feel like they were too young. Too much. Attracted to problems.
You’ve sought comfort in the wrong places. And expected them to see your weary shoulders, sagging from the weight. They never did. But you’re here.
Still here. Still breathing. Still alive. Still trying. Still believing in moon dust.
Getting lost in pages that tell stories of strength. Hues of the navy, clear sky. In things that make sense. That never belonged to you. Yet exist beside you.
You fold your armor. Unfold your map. Everything else is entirely transient.
ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. inspiration⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊⁺⋆ ˚☽˚⋆✩₊˚. context ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧
