“when you bring her into this world, the only thing you ask is for her to stay in it. sometimes i figure myself a tumor on the right side of my mother’s heart: everything she ever could have asked to love but growing too much for its own good. my highs perch me atop the tallest tree, stealing drops of sun until i can dispel all my shadows. my lows swallow me whole until i am sunken treasure at the bottom of my own ocean. i don’t know how to be an in-between. there are days when i want nothing to do with anything enclosed by the sky and what lays in the deepest dug grave. and she is trying to understand what went wrong. prescribe me with more sleep or soup or a voicemail every now and then reminding me that i have a home to come back to and i want more than anything for them to work. more than anything, to cure her too.”
— she used to dream of chemistry
