Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
People who know me may say otherwise, but lately (as in the last year or so) I’ve been really good at coping. My new thing is, it is what it is. Honestly, terrible things happen (when you end up in the hospital with a blood clot in your lung, only to lose two jobs in the span of 1 month and then get a weeks notice to move your entire life back to a town you don’t like and on the way your car engine blows up), trust me, I know. But lately, I’ve just been letting it roll off my back. It’s not mine to carry. Can you do something about it? If the answer is yes, then you’re going to be okay. If the answer is no, then you’re going to be okay. This is what I mean, things happen. Anyways. With all this quarantine, I’ve had a lot, I mean we’ve all had a lot of time to think and reflect on things. I realized I miss the hell out of my friends. I miss getting dressed for a normal day. I miss sleeping on a regular schedule. But I realized one thing and I haven’t really felt ri...