I don’t think it is wrong to want to be comfortable.
I don’t think I can be here anymore.
Do you ever wish you could have back what you were once so exasperated of outrunning? I lay in bed soaking in this realization. The ethers here are too much, under a spell, a seance with all my past selves. There are too many voices of who I once was coming through, it is hard to say who knows best and hard to say who i should bother listening to. And even in this heat, and humid rain, and small one street town, I cannot find the time to untie all of my thoughts. Other people say this is the curse, chasing down time in order to write about it, to undo all of the knots, simply to uncover how you felt about it’s passing. I sit in the shower crying about not knowing how I feel.
This is too much.
Or not enough.
Or simply too hot and too small and not at all what I thought it would shape out to be.
But we continue staring at flickered shadows, trying our best to make decisions about blurry shapes we can never seem to focus.
I look at myself in the mirror of our tiny bathroom, with tears in my eyes while easily envisioning myself a few months from now, a few years from now, folding my hair into one thick braid with hands just a little bit stronger shoulder just a little bit stronger mind a hell of a lot stronger and she will smile at herself achingly, easily remembering who she was in Hawaii when she was always hot always crying always wanting to seep out of her skin and melt into a life anywhere else than the island she was on.