There was always that scratching sound at night, almost like a woman whispering cries for help from behind the wall.  There was always a recital. Then there was  a period of remembering things vividly and listening to the same song thirty-one times in a row.  I’m back to big hair and biting the skin of my fingers.  I’m tired of talking and getting used to the silence. I’m tired of falling to my knees. Everything is seduction. Everything seduces me, everything seduces him. It’s hard to be better when you keep forgetting that you’re trying.  It’s hard to move past your demons when they keep pushing themselves deep down, back into the heels of your feet.  It’s hard to not step on glass and watch as your broken skin cries out for cover.  It’s hard to push past what’s hard, and it’s impossible to be in one place for too long.  It’s hard to control what swims through your head and how wet your face is when you wake up at 5 in the morning.

I fell. There was a time when being alone was beautiful, radiant, perfect. The thought of anything else was horrifying and I was incapable of thinking of permanently being somewhere with someone doing something. Night after night I drank in potency, smoked in the bathtub, let you sleep next to me while I laid awake feeling empty but full of grief. I was anything but simple, and my life was full of holes that I eagerly welcomed. When you, whomever you were, left in the morning I felt nothing but exhaustion. Sometimes there was that slight feeling of am I supposed to be feeling something different? but for the most part, I just continued to lay there until I fell into a broken slumber of disturbing pictures. When I woke up I was always cold and starting to bruise nicely. I would make my way down to the ground and eventually slide slowly over to the window where I stared blankly into the universe.  I knew it was full of secrets just like I was. I guess you could say I was afraid of feeling anything new, but I just didn’t believe in new – I had seen it all before. I stared out the window and kept feeling the cold damage pour into my body.

Legs and veins always tell stories. I find myself thinking the worst is over, trying to convince myself that I am moving forward but there is always something worse. Don’t worry, it will find you.

We rode our bikes under the umbrella trees until our legs begged beautifully to rest. My hair blew out behind me and wrestled with the dry air as I watched his hat float away and roll lazily along the dusty trail. We rested our dirty wheels against the aging bark, tangled our fingers together in an awkwardly comfortable embrace and began to walk toward the shed. It smelled like photosynthesis and age as he bent over to pluck three daisies from the  long grass and slowly braided them through my tangled hair, inexperience shooting out of his hands. It tickled and everything was okay.

When it’s cold out, we seem to most need people. Bodies to cling to, hands to clutch, mouths and necks to kiss. The summer brings a sense of aimlessness, wandering around in the sunshine, I don’t care if I’m alone behavior. There is nothing that I want more than to fly across the state and temporarily into your life but mountains are higher than ever, rivers deep, emotions completely unavailable in these moments. I am so in love with the idea of being perpetually distant that I don’t even know who I am anymore as I drift along the broken earth in this stupid alone-but-not-lonely daze of mine. There is a sense of painful comfort in this, like when he puts his hand around my throat.