Plowing through, raking leaves, the sharp edges drawing lines in the ground. Planting a seed only to dig it up again, clearing the way only to block it up behind me. Never possessing enough restraint, no trench deep enough to keep me from crossing.
I think… I don’t actually know tbh its a hard one. I think it means letting go whatever the person did to you because you love them more than the hurt they caused you. I usually say forgive but don’t forget, but then I don’t really have a great track record of forgiving people. If someone wrongs me, I tend to just blank them and don’t talk to them until we move on with our lives and no longer see each other. Then again, by that point, I don’t really like them enough to want to be friends with them and forgive them. So, tbh, I don’t really think I’m the best person to answer what forgiveness is because I have nooo fucking clue lolol Usually I would say only forgive someone if it helps you. Don’t do it for them because its them that fucked up, its up to you whether you let it go or not and whether you decide if you love them enough. Idk I probs have trust/forgiveness issues so yeah don’t listen to this ramble mess okay?? Anyone else want to say their definition?? Feel free to say it, I’m curious :)
I remember being that little girl dreamer, the one who, alongside her sister, designed a new closet space for her room, including all the details, the clothes, the lines, the doors. I have never forgotten that feeling of desire to create, of hope of blueprints turning into architecture that can be traced with the hands.
As far back as I can remember, when I was little, and they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I remember, I wanted to be a truck driver. To spend all day behind the wheel, in my own space, was so appealing to me. Delivering groceries to the store.
I suppose I’ve always been a dreamer. See, people sometimes don’t understand my silence. They ask me, “what are you thinking, why aren’t you filling the silence?” and with burning eyes I would turn to them, unable to fill them in on what is happening within my head. How can I tell them that I am afraid and afraid and tired and angry and excited and my brain is full of clouds because that’s where dreamers live. That’s where some of us die.
What am I dreaming about? About being everything, about having nothing to lose. And lately, I feel I’ve closed the gap between the knowledge of what I want, and where I am. But the space is wide, and time is short, it’s always running out.
So, here’s the thing. I spend most of my life dreaming. What I mean is, when I am sleeping my freakish brain-visions mirror reality and when I wake up to my vibrating phone I can hardly remember if they happened or not. And so I frantically check for text messages that were never sent and never received, and press my fingers lightly to temples to check for memories that were made of masks.
What I mean is: I lay on my bed with songs of sad playing and breathe in the air around me and my head tears itself from my body, but there is no blood, and it floats upward eerily, until it hits the ceiling of the sky, where it plays my favorite songs and writes poetry until the sun comes up. If it sounds frightening, don’t worry; keep in mind, a severed head cannot see.
Really, what I mean. Is to say that I am in love with dreams because I am a dreamer. And when the rest of the world comes to ask where I have been, and why I refuse to leave my bed, I tell them, I show them:
This glass barrier, I live inside. And the world in here has good and evil just like theirs, but more flowers grow through the cracks in the sidewalk and cinematic music plays in the background to everybody’s life. I invite them inside, but they shake their heads, because they have forgotten about their little kid dreams. I show them crumpled paper drawings discarded from the refrigerator that they made when they were in third grade, but I can’t save them all.
See, I’ve been here a long time, and I do leave sometimes. Understand, depression still haunts me here, I just make it more beautiful. A deadly habit.
But I am still dreaming. I dream because it keeps me burning. I never want to forget how to be a phoenix.
my inspiration has gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do in my life and what I’m doing now. I feel empty. I’m trying to think positively but it fails every evening. I don’t know what depression is but i hope it is not.