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I'm fried. I'm tired. It's the ninth day of the new semester and I'm already behind, basically in everything. No motivation. My grandfather's death and then two months of work a week after final exams have left me drained and sort of dead inside, and that has yet to go away. So instead of work, I sit here, typing this, wondering what my plans are and when I'm going to feel less fried. Less braindead.
I can't breathe. It's not like how my sister gasps and wheezes for air when she runs too hard and her asthma swoops in on burning wings and chokes her up. I'm dizzy and can't find air, but it's because I've misplaced it. I think I forgot about it. I'm just breathless. Breathless and numb. In those moments when it's too much to think about breathing.
On rainy days, it's never really sure if I'm going to love or hate the rain. Sometimes it's just suffocating and gloomy and generally sad and grey and dreary. But other times, it's like a sort of catharsis to stand in the rain and feel a hundred little droplets of water coming in contact with you.
If you see a particular part of the world that you like, alert a member of the cabin crew and one of us will fit you with a parachute and chuck you out. Then you can plummet to the ground and either splash or crash into that particularly likable part of the earth.
The catchers were quick, so she had to be quicker. But how can you outrun something that isn't even there? The only way is to not be there yourself-- to run so fast that you're essentially never there at all, or at least not long enough to leave a trace. To make sure no one ever remembers you, to never be caught, you can never been seen and never be noticed.
I always thought you were stunning. Not in how you looked, though you are beautiful, but more in how you are able to carry yourself and walk like you know what you're doing, and how you're never caught unprepared for anything. You always have a solution. You always know the answer.
When time moves on, there's nothing left but memories and remembered sensation.
All that's left is 30 seconds.
To my left is a dictionary.
I'm all that's left.
Paintbrush splotches that don't look like anything. Mismatched sentences. Cut and paste, cover in color, mix, toss, jumble. Doesn't make any sense. Melting clocks, colored cellophane, autumn leaves when I'm not wearing my glasses.
I love eating icicles in winter. I know it's gross and unsanitary and for all I know a squirrels peed on it and it's now stuck to my tongue, but you know what, it's fun. It's one of those things that makes me remember I'm still a kid, no matter what I say to the contrary.
Two months ago, I left home for college. I'm on my own for the first time. I'm taking whatever classes I want for the first time. I'm responsible for myself for the first time. I'm learning to be brave for the first time.
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