The early nights are confusing for the soul, but the forced retirement might do me some good. We went to a dance party. We were the youngest ones there and it was beautiful watching people a decade older than me find joy in nostalgia. I loved Anora. I miss New Jersey. I have been making Christmas ornaments by hand for my future family. I have been taking care of my mother. She has good days and bad. All of this in the few moments between the work and the work and the work. Confetti shot out of a Canon once the crowd already left the building. I feel as though it was all for nothing. It’s a dry, cold, itch. Maybe I’ll hide again until a tour when the sun comes back. Maybe I won’t make a sound. Maybe I’ll sleep. Maybe I’ll choose different this time with my restart to zero, my bonus life I pulled from a box. And pull from a box with a needle every 3 weeks. Maybe maybe maybe. Maybe I fixed everything so I could do this one thing again, without realizing that one thing was what needed fixing. I am tired and I forgot how to have fun. I complain too much and I should keep it to myself, I’ve been told a lot the past few weeks. But the thing is that I can’t. I have an unrelenting ache and a never ending whine that must crank out of me like a tornado siren in the dark. That’s what’s been wrong with me the entire time, couldn’t they see? I’ve always needed to be seen to exist. But now they don’t see me, and I’m still existing. Perhaps, problem solved. Regrettably.
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stormborns
