all she ever wanted was everything, but all she ever received was nothing. unforgiven by the blood that birthed her, for which she knew not what she had forgiven for. surrounded by those who took from her like crows stole a bag of limbs, giving nothing back but squawks that left her deafened and dim. she was always blind. the one thing no one can take from her, her own oblivion.
femininity seems to coincide with the desire to destroy myself. to rip out my hair and claw my skin. oh how i loathe it. the longing to take my heart from my chest and crush it, to suck out all the pain. the desire to lay myself down in ice and freeze the essence of my youth eternally.
women want to be loved like roses. they spend hours trying to perfect their eyebrows and toes and inventing irresistible curls that fall by accident down the back of their necks from otherwise austere hair-dos. they want their lover to remember the way they held a glass. they want to haunt.
sometimes i miss that one friend of mine so much. i know friendships make their cycles and that when their time comes they end, either violently or not, and i know it’s expected and normal and i should get over it. but when i look back to our pictures and our videos and our memories, i feel a weight on my chest. i guess i kinda miss her, and her company, and how involved she was in my life. does she misses me too? do any of our memories matter to her still? does she dream of us hanging out again like nothing ever happened too?
i am mist embodied. i am cloak and dagger. i am unknowable despite my constant over sharing. i am opaque transparency. i isolate myself in a sexy non-concerning way. i am obvious invisibility. i am a persona so intriguing. i am rumored to still be an alive celebrity. i am sherlock holmes unsolved. i am not something as pedestrian as avoidant attachment style. my whodunit condition is one of the great fun and no one is ever bored with me. i am a great mystery.
i want to lie down in a bath and in the arms of a lover. and for the light above to turn into the sun. for the water below us to turn into a river and for us to float. gently, gently, gently, out the mouth and to the sea. and for me to realize that their arms were never really arms at all but the sensation of the current of my skin.
