On what it might take

I feel lately like all it would take is being seen, That somehow maybe sitting across from the right people at the right time would make this all feel familiar. I’m alone so often that I forget it’s not this way for everybody. I learned this week that it is legal to smoke indoors in some places, and the shock of it was an ice cube on my spine. What I mean is: I sat on a couch and spoke about all the things I feel most strongly, the things I hope most quietly and fervently, and I was listened to, and this all happened to take place in a room where people smoked. It is a terrifying thing to name all the things you want out loud.

I spend most of my time with people now that do not know anything about the people I define myself by. I use descriptive labels when naming those who take up the most room in my being: friends, ex-loves, my mother. No one really knows what any of it means, and I don’t know if I do either. It is liberating to keep being yourself amongst people who do not have any idea who that is. It is even more liberating to find I may not know either.

All I ever do anymore is write and think and forget about my tea, and I find it tremendously strange that only a short time ago I was living what felt like a completely different life. A life that I was completely different in. I do not think I miss it, and that feels more like loss than the parts that really did get lost. Things we once built up as life-size didn’t survive the break, and the parts that did are now near unrecognizable. In the dark, I can’t remember the shape of my own hands.

I say it would take being seen. Somedays, I can’t imagine what getting through this would look like.

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