Sifting through faces is easy. Sifting through emotions is not.
I am in control as I pass by the unfamiliar, some more recognizable than others. Expectations are low because I am naive enough to believe I once had the best. I have never been more wrong. At this time my fiery heart of hope and romance has faded to a glimmer and I wonder if I will ever get it back. My fingers are fixed in a repetitive motion, that is until I find the view appealing. Your kind eyes and undeniable smile draws me in, allowing my right hand to stray from the monotonous swipe. Your response comes with a bittersweet prick on my finger that sends a shockwave through my body. A "hello" different from all of the others. Jokes about jetting off to far away countries and indulging on delectable carbs and fine wine. Following the first compliment you send my way, I fire back because I am unsure of your intentions. Conversation flows and my expectations skyrocket, despite our wants being different. I see your name light up my phone and I am sparked with excitement. Butterflies swarm my stomach when I am in your presence -- the only anxiousness I take pleasure in. The most caring and genuine. A cherished lip lock, sweeter than honey. My thoughts are ferociously wrapped around you. A knock at the edge of my brain that is impossible to ignore -- despite our wants being different. I give in effortlessly. Conversation turns sluggish and all I can hear is a steady buzz. I look down and trace the scar on my knee with the same finger that was stung, while my pinky feels your promise -- hoping I can still be the one to bring you luck. Soon I am forced along a winding path of memories that leaves me cemented. An ache that I live with every day, not knowing if I will ever have the privilege of seeing you again. You ask me if I am held back yet I am unsure. Darkness slowly fades into morning as I toss and turn the night away. The temperature outside these walls is sweltering, but I get an icy chill whenever the thought of you stops by. Why are you back so soon? You greet me with the sunrise and toy with my happiness during daylight. A type of persistence that could only come from myself. Nostalgia attempts to hold my smile together, but as soon as I close my eyes, I can see yours -- and mine begin to water. Tension builds and it feels as though there is a firework show exploding in my head. The stinger pierces deeper into my hand until I am numb, but all I want to do is thank you. Except for no longer being in control.
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The month of January unexpectedly splashes me in the face, drenching my dress of choice.
I prepare myself for the inevitable by pulling my thick, dirty blonde hair up into a ponytail. More cautious than I have ever been, I take a step forward. The jagged rocks below are recently soaked, my bare feet kept dry. I am apprehensive, but ready. This is my favorite feeling to jump into. I tell myself to relax, wait, and hold back just enough. I don't want to submerge myself because I know the excruciating pain of drowning far too well. I attempt to fight any urges, but ultimately choose to take the plunge. The tide feels shockingly different this time -- warm, calming, and much more promising. I am perplexed as the sweetness of this particular sea rushes up my ankles. The confusion sends an undeniable chill down my spine. The saltiest of bodies are usually the type to find me. All different in their own ways, but similar in how each one pulls me under -- immaturely and indefensible. I am dragged across the eroded stones and broken shells -- my tanned legs turn a frightening shade of red. Doused and disturbed while those who play dirty are unconditionally clean. The icy waves smack across my fading smile as I contemplate how I am here again. Through all of my travels thus far, I am unfamiliar with interactions unlike these. I know I have not been here before. The most cautious and caring pool to dive into. A guide who like myself, and ironically enough, lacks directional skills. A special, bright blue spot in an abundance of black and white that I never knew existed. Absorbed in a rink of sleet -- I am not playing games. As days pass by and the weather turns hot, sweet droplets continue to touch my skin and I am flooded with excitement. I ignore any concerning waves because the bliss washing over me is irresistible. I reach my most vulnerable point, saltiness flows from my eyes because I realize I am in too deep. Soaked in emotion, "I'm sorry" is repeatedly spit out of my mouth. However, I am unapologetic for being invested. If or when this body completely dries up, I am a fish out of water. Buoyed to something that was not nearly mine yet hurts to lose. I tip a liquor glass to my lips and swallow one gulp after another, stinging my throat -- drowning myself. Breathing heavy and vision blurry, I reach out to the shore. My thirst cannot be quenched. At this moment I am distanced against my will, left drifting alone without a boat in sight to rescue me. I swim against the current refusing to let go, frantically searching for anything left to hold on to. Beads of sweat drip from my forehead as I am sinking, gasping for air. I cannot help but stay hopeful that one day I will tread comfortably again. Now I search for an island -- a piece of paradise I have not yet been. The power to choose is a right. As a 23 year-old woman living in America raised by a traditional family, I am given this privilege. I say what I feel and do as I please. I lose track of how many choices I make in a day; of course some are heavier than others. The choice of what outfit to wear, the choice to send an alcohol-induced text message or not make my bed. These decisions are up to me. I can decide all on my own, without unwanted feedback from anyone – some of the time.
But what I never seem to have a say in is who retreats from his designated pedestal in my reality. A comfortable seat with no permanent ties while the rope does not dare to leave my back pocket. An arrangement with benefits that never leave me fully satisfied. I sit back and say everything is okay when it is not. I hand out apologies like they are a “two for one” special to those who do not deserve them. I continue this effort until my rope disintegrates and I have no way to transform our non-commitment into something lasting, something more meaningful – and more importantly, something I deserve. Separation ensues. People choose to walk out of my life and most of the time they do not come back. I guess if they leave then they were not meant to be there long-term anyway. If someone leaves, there is an open space for another that may actually have the desire to stick around. But that’s the thing; they get to choose – not my mind or my heart. They make the first move while my brain screams at my feet to stay firmly planted. The words he will come around are stuck on repeat in my head. They get the last word, the “checkmate” maneuver on the game board. Not because I am scared or unsure, but simply because I enjoy the view. As my index finger reaches for the fast forward button, I am intercepted once again. He hits pause. I am led blindly, my vision clouded by giddiness, seemingly on a path to where I want to be. Boys like to tease that way. Life likes to tease that way. I am not the volunteer. I do not carry the weight of choosing to walk away. I am the one engulfed in confusion as to why people want to leave when I would give everything I am capable of offering on a silver platter crafted specifically for the character I admire. My prerogative is regularly snatched out from under me. I never want to believe what is about to happen next. I feel weight of the departure coming from miles away. A “goodbye” that I crave to mean “see you later”. Decisions are not my strong suit. I question whether what I do is right, if what I think is normal. I attempt to compare my situations to those of others but it is quite a wasted effort because I am not like everyone else. My anxious mind and passionate heart are constantly at war. Weapons are drawn on the daily. The two come to an inevitable face off and blood is shed as the heart takes what some would call yet another victory. This horrific scene does not faze me as my wounded heart desperately clings to my sleeve. Nearly flatlined. I do not battle on the outside. I am not a fighter – my fists are tightly clenched but never raised. My heart is on guard – ready to stop them, ready to change their minds. They just never seem to care, or at least not enough. Why would I want to force someone to stay? It is the burning question that flashes in front of my face and haunts me as I take every shot to reel them back in. If they want to be here, they would not leave. The concept is not overly complicated, but I am accustomed to my defense during this repetitive procedure. I am addicted to the high of having the seat next to me filled. My hand grasps the doorknob, holding the stubborn piece of wood wide open, as if it does not have the capability to slam shut. Intensity flowing from my chest keeps it from closing. I watch them exit without flaw, while I am left behind emotionally banged up and bruised. So here I stand, wishing and deeply dreaming that some day, just maybe a familiar face that chose to leave will choose to turn around, full of regret. A face begging to return to the reserved seat he once had. I would be a fool to think that type of pleading would be necessary to re-enter such an embarrassingly susceptible door. I close my eyes and I can picture them coming back to what they once knew. My twisted mind takes me on a first class flight of imagination that I cannot escape. At first, a string of hopeful, light-hearted scenarios about our future. Soon enough I am soaring through a world of darkness and fog, dissecting our last spoken words on the operating table in my head. Each syllable is ripped apart attempting to find the complication. Infinitely perplexed if I should have done anything differently. As I walk over to the entryway, my most cherished and injured organ effortlessly falls off the sleeve of my black, cotton dress -- Shattered. "For now I say goodbye to this chapter in my life. And I look forward to what comes next."
The holiday season has officially died down and 2015 is in full swing. And as cliché as it sounds, I'm ready for this fresh start everyone is talking about. I have never been one to make resolutions for the new year. I hate when people publicly make a big deal about things they want to accomplish in the upcoming year and then choose to ignore them as soon as the excitement wears off. I like to focus on aspects of my life and myself I'm always wanting to improve, rather than using the start of a new year as an excuse to make a change. I am always striving to be a more outgoing individual. I think this is something I will always have to work on, simply because it is not my personality. I'm quiet compared to a lot of people, sitting back while others stand in the spotlight. I often listen and think instead of talking and taking action. But looking back I've realized how far I've come, even since just the beginning of college. This year already feels a little different than all the others. It's probably pretty easy to say this after the passing of every 365 days, but I truly mean it when I say 2014 was the best and worst year of my life. I discovered how difficult change can be. And how much I hate it. I was pushed out of my comfort zone more times than I can count, opening myself up to new experiences and new people. Saying that I had fun would be an extreme understatement. I think since this past year was such a huge turning point in so many ways, that is why 2015 seems quite distinctive. Some variation of this is uttered by Ryan Seacrest each year as the ball drops and the clock hits midnight, but who knows, maybe typing it here makes a difference - I think this year has immense potential. Promise. The events of 2014 happened for a reason, whether I loved or hated what was going on. But I believe that overall reason was to prepare myself for what's to come in 2015. Basically, my warm up. I tend to hold on to the idea of things I want a little too tightly, no matter how much they are just not meant to happen. I don't want to be stuck in the year before while everyone around me is moving forward. I want to be moving with them - ahead of them. I already made it clear I'm not exactly for making resolutions, but I guess if I have one it'd be to let go of what I cannot control. Because things are the way they are and being miserable isn't going to change anything. So, bring it on 2015. I've practiced. |
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