And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this
The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did
It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live
Cause what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is
- Bright Eyes, Lua


These fits in the bathroom, rocking back and forth and trying to remember how to breathe. The inability to sleep because the world is always ending. Feeling so incredibly inferior to everyone else.
Where’s the manual, please, on how to be a person? I feel like I’m failing, I’m falling and failing and flailing and I’m out of control. I’m the top that never stops. I’m spinning, whirling across the table in a blur. There is no beginning or end. There is only me, this mess of a person, trying so hard but with no signs of doing very well.
Can I just lay on the ground forever? The best is in the driveway in September around seven. Everything is golden and you forget all the bad things so easily.
Or else in the long grass, in the middle of July. Under a tree, when there’s nothing else you have to do. And you think about never getting up, falling asleep and waking up and living right there. Dying there. How easy it would be.
Living is exceptionally exhausting. This life will take everything from you, and it does sometimes unsympathetically. These are the times when I only want to feel the ground and see the sky. The two constants in this chaos.
People are so complicated. They are not good and bad, like they used to be when you were small. They are angry and imperfect, damaged and pretty. They are kind with secrets, or scared and sad. They are one million things and they even know what or why.
We are so small. We are on this spinning lump, in some corner of something much bigger, I’m sure. We’re trapped on this beautiful place, but we can never see all of it. Most people never see too much of it past their front door.
I have all these thoughts but I know nothing. I go along with everyone else and muddle through this routine day after day, only hoping something comes flying in once in a while to save me from the sameness. I am no exception to the norm. I am insignificant and little. I am a million things that no one knows. I am the blur, spinning, flying, running towards the horizon. I am nothing and I am everything that matters. There is no one else if I close my eyes. There’s only the way the sunshine feels on your legs in March, the smell of cinnamon floating through the house. There’s only the way you can feel the beat of a base drum resonate throughout your body, and how you can look at someone and just love them without even trying.
There are moments when everything is perfect, and you aren’t yourself, you’re everything around you.
When you look in the mirror and forget that you are a person, not just watching this marvelous world but an actual part in it. You are actually real, alive, breathing, living, doing. You are something, you are important but only relatively, of course. You can sing and dance and do whatever you want. You can fly.