I wish it were that easy to forget about her, to confine her to a few paragraphs in writing I could recall from time to time to remember who she was like. But the truth is there: I know exactly what she is like. For when you have spent each waking moment in an intense bond with another individual, you know that person’s soul. You know each others’ faults so specifically, to the point where it hurts to even think about such qualities in a conscious state of mind.
I had so many opportunities to reconnect, but each time I failed.
I’ll talk about the time I went manic.
the truth is it’s so difficult to write about what you don’t know and fear like hell. i don’t know, but i’ve probably been depressed for maybe six months. i don’t even really admit it to myself. i sit passively behind a screen and expect results, as if that’s how problems are solved. and it’s a lackadaisical kind of sadness, one that gradually crept up over me, rendering me powerless to read any sort of book during november and december. but it’s not like a suicidal kind of sadness. it’s an anhedonia, an inability to feel any pleasure. do i feel dead inside? no. i feel like i’m taking a really long nap inside, and i’m trying to wake up but the temptation remains to fall asleep each minute.
elevators, the familiar ding of
their arrival signifying an
impending silence between
one plus x number of people
where x is from 0 to 15, optimistically speaking,
considering weight and space
constraints.
the familiar history of this one.
my reliance on it for the better part of
two semesters of freshman year.
in my girlfriend’s dorm building.
that bitch. making me
take this elevator
to bring her soup
or mac and cheese,
to her room on the top (4th)
floor where we slept together
on her bed that always smelled better
than mine, of lilacs and shampoo.
the hours spent in that bed.
she’d always want to lay in bed,
on my hand, to the point
of actual annoyance. we were
innocent 18-year-olds looking to
lose that innocence.
i wish we still talked.
that we still could share our secrets,
supposedly grown considerable in
number this time we have spent apart.
validation. comfortable in one’s own skin.
why are these things so difficult to say?
why do I seek satisfaction in a relationship? why do I pursue, searching for something I have in front of me?
these insecurities build up. and now i have to say my writing is quite terrible.
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