Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury ruined my life
I've decided I'm gonna stop waiting for the "perfect moment," to write. It's never going to come, it doesn't even exist. Last night I carved out a trash can and taped it to my journal page. I called it, "An exchange for a breath." You know when you start rambling and it almost seems like you're the one chasing after your words? I feel like I'm watching my lips move on without me. I don't realize the extent of my thoughts until I say them out loud. Anyways, I told myself to write down any "throw away thoughts," and place them in the bin. Even if it's just for a second, I will place my thoughts in a place outside of myself so i don't have to be stuck carrying it for once. It's exhausting thinking all the time and then when I do speak it's like I don't know how to stop. I am constantly holding my breath hoping that maybe if I suffocate I can finally gain the worth to take up space. I'm all over the place really.
The first thing I wrote, "it's never too far behind, that feeling, maybe it's just in my bones. Maybe this is the beginning of decaying. Do you love your body?"
It's funny really because the other day I wrote, "Do you talk to yourself in the mirror? Do you talk to yourself at all?" I am full with nothing but questions.
It's not funny at all actually. I'm just as sad as I was when I was 13. She's drowning inside me.
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