Wandering lost in between, leaning towards the left and then the right, but never more than just that. It’s an obscure strange feeling being stuck in the middle, yet not belonging to either side. No place to stand, just plenty of room to fall.

trampolines and two hour talks. the sad moon. letting me in. the future. questions. cloud watching. revelations, truths and no lies.

Years of familiarity suddenly shifting into different perspectives, a place just like another home turning into nothing but 4 white walls, a building. Yet nothing’s changed. Everything is exactly the same, the objects, the people, they’re no different. It’s a routine, I walk the halls and go from room to room on auto-pilot, I feel dead, no longer alive and passionate. This is on my off days, which is more often than not. Sometimes I feel as if I’m here because I ought to be. If I wasn’t then I’d be lost. I feel so out of place, a stranger. I question everything and blame others for why I feel the way I do, until I realized that no one has changed, except myself, I’m no longer the same. It’s not a matter of fight or flight because what if I’m just fighting for something I no longer believe in? I’d rather be lost not doing anything than be lost doing something I’ll end up being stuck with. I want to pack up my things, go on an adventure, learn about things that matter, like really matter, not like this. What’s it all about anyway? Why am I doing this? What is it for? Maybe it’s just another off night, but even those come more often than not. Maybe it’s a rude awakening and I need to stop putting off the alarm. Maybe this is me slowly finding myself again, but how can I jump without the reassurance that the fall would be worth jumping for in the first place?

My mind is a fickle one, never satisfied nor convinced, loud and strong, unstoppable. And it’s my heart that often knows what is honest and true, but almost always silent, still. It’s a constant struggle between what I feel and what I know. They often get along, then clash and contradict. So easily swayed but standing strong, seemingly unstable. It’s crazy to think one wouldn’t go insane, but I’m not insane, or maybe I am. Who’s to say? This is how it’s been all my life. In a different perspective my soul is messed up. It takes one person to tear the layers of my distorted figure and get to the core… innocent, untouched, and pure.

I know it’s unfair to put you in this position when you’ve been nothing but perfect. But that’s the thing, what if that’s your glitch? And I know that I have nothing left to do but to trust, but even that I tend to fuck up. I’m afraid of being consumed by love so much that I start to get blinded towards what’s real. I can’t shake the feeling, it eats me up alive and spits me out into a mess of cynical thoughts, of deceiving lies. We held each other close as drizzle fell from the windows to the soul, we whispered words, our hearts quivering silently. There’s an ache so indescribable. It’s the constant crippling fear that you’ll turn out just like the rest. But please, for the sake of my sanity, prove me wrong again and again.

This life isn’t as picture perfect as most strangers like to paint it out to be. I have a past full of anger, hurt and resentment for the people whom I love the most. I made excuses for them because it’s in my being to believe that all people are good, that they have valid reasons for doing what they do, even if it doesn’t always make sense to me. I carried the weight and kept it as my own and each time it piled up I made sure my understanding knocked them all down. I made excuses for them so I wouldn’t have to deal with what might be the truth, sometimes I even blamed myself so it wouldn’t have to pain me so much knowing that someone who claims to love me hurts me in so many different ways. “Maybe they didn’t mean to, maybe they didn’t know, no one is that insensitive to do any of those on purpose.” You can call it denial, I call it my saving grace. You see, I pick my battles, I win my wars. I fight to fight self-destruction. 

I run. That’s what I do. The moment things get a little too much for me, I run. I retreat from the people who care about me the most. I think I have an irrational fear of needing someone so much, of being dependent on someone else entirely aside from myself, of being picked apart for all my insecurities to be laid out in the open. There’s always two options, to fight it or to give into the person. Somehow my mind and emotions go on auto-pilot and I disconnect. It’s a reflex. Something I can’t seem to control. I’m hurled into this black hole of darkness and nothing, yet everything, makes sense. You’d think I’d feel lost, but mostly I feel safe. I may be losing it, or I may be blowing things out of proportion. I don’t know where to draw the line between the two. All I know is that I run. I’ll disappear. So if I run, stay, and I’ll return to you. It might take me hours, days, sometimes weeks, and this is me and all my flaws, but I always, always come back.

I’m wired in certain ways not even I can understand, so it would be hard to put into words the kind of trouble that stirs inside my head. I wander off into the shadows without knowing, like sleepwalking except I’m really wide awake. I don’t remember how or when I get there, all I know is that the darkness embraces me with this relieving sense of familiarity. There’s two of me in this vessel, and they fight to take center stage. One of me sees the glass half-full and the other sees nothing at all. I’m wired in certain ways, differently, complexed, confusing. I’m a glass half full with cracks on the bottom, and everything in me slowly gets drained away, and then someone comes along and fills me up to the brink, again and again and again. I’m nothing but human with odd wiring, a slight chemical imbalance, and this is a show we, the two of me, put on for everyone to see. Am I convincing? Are you believing everything I say or do? I’m wired in certain ways, and no one will ever understand. Not even me.