You are flawless. I wish I had the courage and confidence to dance through life like you do.
You’ve very sweet, sugar, but courage and confidence are two things I am just about drained of. Fake it and dance your little heart out. xo
Childish Gambino- Heartbeat XOXO
I love that song. xo
Frozen // December 8th, 2013 // 3:10 a.m.
I finally fell asleep around 7 yesterday morning, and awoke with cold symptoms half an hour before my shift… Revenge of a neglected body, I suppose. It is 10° in Portland tonight, and the blistering cold is a reminder that there’s nobody here to press my bony hands between theirs and fill the cluster of digits with their warm breath. That’s a gesture that has always plucked at my heartstrings. It’s more than a puff of air curling around your chilled knuckles, it is a sigh of their breathing, it is a whisper, a fleeting secret, maybe the release of a gasp that had been pulled into their loving lungs by something beautiful.
It’s not like there aren’t individuals in my world who would warm me if only I’d let them. The thing is, I just won’t. I’m having a hard time connecting with people at all, anymore. It’s not for lack of their trying, or any particular distaste on my part. I love my friends, I adore my family, there are some very sweet guys who have tried recently. But their tentative probes and questioning gazes are like my stiff, frozen, fingers seeking for heat between my ribs and arms: I can’t help but pull away. I’m sorry, I love you too, but no, I don’t want to talk about it.
My best friend hit me up today, asking that we make time for each other. I called my mother on her birthday last week, and she said all she wanted as a gift was to communicate more. It was the first time we’d spoken in three months. My sister visited me at work last night, and all but begged me to take a break and talk to her because I looked so sad. My instinct was to fire off “I can’t, I’m okay, I’ll message you later” in rapid succession, and I saw the glimmer of pained understanding in her eyes. I know that people are talking, asking her to check on me, telling her that they’re worried, and out of everyone on this planet, she’s probably the one to do it. The issue isn’t that she doesn’t know what the darkness is like, it’s that I don’t want to show her how deep it runs.
This year has been such a difficult one, but it is only continuing the pattern. Every winter is darker, colder, more isolated. Every hope burns hotter and dies deeper. Each fall is rockier and leaves more evidence. I ran across a box of childhood photos the other day and looking through them tore me open. Whoever took these photographs was preserving moments of laughter, memories of sun-drenched car rides, birthday cakes, the safety of being in daddy’s arms, candid glimpses into a world beautiful enough to hold onto. How sad that the happy little girl smiling up at me from that precious second in time is the same hollow-eyed bruise of a human being I see when I look in the mirror. It feels like I failed her, like I killed her… And it breaks my fucking heart.