I’m trying to be good. I really am. I hear you, every morning, when you look into the mirror and say “Today will be a good day. Today will be a good a day.” I am listening. And I feel awfully sorry when your jeans rip or your test comes back at 50%. I really do regret it when it rains on your field trip or the boss at your job makes you stay past closing.
I’m not complaining, I understand. However, I must say, it sort of hurts my feelings when you curse at me and such. It hurts my feelings when you say “today was a waste! A total waste!” Are those my only two options? I must be a good day or else I am not a day at all, but an emptiness?
For the record, I like being your day, even when it doesn’t seem like it. I like waking up with you, even when you’re counting split ends and breaking out on your nose. I like being your day even when no one talks to you on the bus and you feel like crying into your pillow for hours. I like being yours.
I know sometimes I’m not very good. I know sometimes it feels like that’s all I ever am: disappointing, one long drawn out sigh, a series of mornings with bad milk and shoes that make your feet hurt. But sometimes it feels like there’s too many rules for me to follow if I’m being honest.
I can never seem to get it right with either too many people noticing you or not enough. Too much time spent on your phone and not enough doing things you hate, but must do anyway. I am always wrong about bedtime and snacking and remembering to floss.
And I know … it’s been getting worse. I know you’ve locked the door and said: that’s enough. I’m tired. I won’t come out again. Not until I have only clever words to say, and look good in the clothes my mother buys me. I won’t come back out again until it hurts a little less to exist.
But I miss you. I miss walking with you to the park and watching leaves fall. I miss singing off-key in the shower and dancing alone in your living room. I miss licking up ice-cream up from your wrist when it melts and crying at stupid movies where the dog comes home. I miss the way you used to look forward to me even when I wasn’t always good or happy or beautiful.
So, please, don’t give up on me. Put down the sharpest bits, I can’t promise anything, I’m only just a day, small and weak and silly, but I miss you. I miss taking your hand, even when you’ve been biting your nails, I miss the way sometimes you have so much to say it all pours out at once. I miss your quiet days as well when your full of thoughts and watching rain storms.
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