It’s been longer than I can imagine. That’s a statement in itself, I can imagine vast worlds of impossibility and grandeur, but this length of time is longer than I can fathom? What a way to start this stream of consciousness that is me writing. I’m honestly only writing this out because I’m reeling with the normalcy that I’m feeling, the normal-ness is combating with the different-ness and it’s causing me to feel emotionally queasy. This time last year, and the year before that, I was doing the same things, wheels spinning, routine dragging. Different scenes, same movie, same fucking trilogy that was the last 3 years. The saying rings true, a year from now everything will be different...it took 2 years.
Everything is still different though.
And yet, still at school, still seeing a boy, still figuring it out. It’s a different boy this time. I pined for 2 years, so it’s strange that it’s a different boy. I’m so incredibly happy it’s a different boy. At this present moment I’m also feeling incredibly insecure because WOW what a goddamn catch, what were the girls ahead of me thinking? How could you ever want to let him go? How could you ever think he’s not everything you would need from a partner?
I catch myself thinking how I don’t know why he’s with me. Ain’t that the pits? I hear about his previous lovers, compare myself to them, chalk us up to be an error in his judgement. I’m not like them, I’m not well-versed in the equations of astro-physics or science. I’m not skinny with a top half that fills out blouses and a bottom half that compliments. I’m “deep” as my jock friends would call me, but I ponder about the world’s ineffable intricacies much less than I would like to. I’m uneven, body unproportioned, crooked mind with a soft heart. I look at him and see all these wonderful feats of humanity in a person: kindness, generosity, patience, I need to shut up because I’m probably all those things too, I just can’t see it. Did I find a loophole somewhere? Where does it say that I can have him in his wholesomeness? How on this Earth does his attraction parallel mine? Because mine transcends the mundane, the “standard”, the rut we tread day after day. I look inside myself and I find nothing but devotion, endless admiration. A fondness no one else has seemed to ignite in me. All I want to do is help him with what I can help with, grow with him when needed, and explore it all.
I want to explore all of this. These feelings of helpless happiness, unknowing, fear. I want to grab onto my chest and tear my layers apart, piece by piece, until all he’s left with is raw, pink, Ness emotions. I want to look him in the eyes while I reach in and give him every part of me that no one else deserves to hold, I want to close his fingers over his palm with my hand.
“Keep ‘em.”
I want to grab his shoulders and shake them, because I can barely lift my hand to my heart and keep it there. It is so hard to drop this facade of myself, the “I’ll tell you later, haha” No, I want to tell you now, I want to tell you it all. But it’s hard.
I need to know you’re there.
I need the reminder, of course he’s there. He’s all in, at least it seems he is thus far. I need to know he won’t turn tail and run. Because if it’s too much, if it’s not what he signed up for, if these pieces should stay in my chest I need to know before it’s too late. Before he’s standing there, holding me in his hands, saying “Sorry.” Before I’m clumsily returning to reality, acting like it doesn’t matter to me, when it means everything.
Man, it’s been a long time.
I’m trying to articulate it all, but that was one facet of “all” and it took forever to write. I’m struggling with adulthood, all I want is to be my own person. That would be divine. If I could formulate myself to nestle safely in society without being homeless, I’d love it. I just want to work a 9-5, take some night classes? Pay my car insurance, pay my rent. Be done with college, or done with my parents insisting on paying for higher education. In exchange they bludgeon me with crippling anxiety, panic attacks and guilt over that, and being myself as a person.
Turns out I’m shit at being a good Bosnian Muslim girl, who knew.
I’m not a shit person though, they will never convince me of that fact. I’m Ness, I’m loud, awkward, punny, kind, full of laughter and intricate thought; I am a placebo effect, better than the drugs you thought you were taking. I’m full of boisterous Me-ness and I will never apologize for being that way.
Who knows, maybe I’ll read this in a year and I’ll think...
Hasn’t it been long?
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