there are periods in life, fleeting, torrid, when the world goes wild and your heart beats for everything you’ve lost and your breath in the air in front of you holds the weight of these losses. there are times, the breaking of love, a space in your chest, when every action is acceptable, when the daylight comes too quickly and you keep your friends close in the opening atmosphere so you wont have to be alone.
for three months i pushed and pushed and pretended and played and wondered at how my body worked as i took the bus to school in the morning. for three months i decided not to deal, stolen moments, stolen time, with the reality of what had vanished, in minutes, from around me. a life, the settling of feelings, a standard comfort, was erased with the closing of an apartment door; years gone, swallowed in accusatory silence, seconds passed in eternities, what i had grown to know was no longer.
not a single word - scents stir something in my stomach, sights bring a lingering sorrow, with his rash action (humiliation, shameful face) he took the happiness from our two years. Thief of joy, time bandit, I need to learn not to regret my mistakes in life. These are the real lessons, the notebooks piled on your desk, dusty, still relevant, that you open, repeatedly, persistent as the seasons, when you forget who you are.