~sparke plane~

“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”

have you ever heard someone say that january was 
their favorite month? if they did, you probably heard wrong. 
no matter where you are, january is bitter because you’ll remain
 disloyal to your resolutions and the 12 months prior are
 still biting at your ankles. for the last eight years, i’ve spent 
my new years eve making lists of the scabs my body has
 dried out and plans to avoid scarring but i wake up every 
new years day to the nauseating realization that i’ve still
 got two and a half months of seasonal affective disorder 
to endure. has anyone ever told you that sadness isn’t
a disease? if they did, they might be dyslexic. the worst
 of it is over now and i know this because tomorrow is april 
first. i’ll always be a fool but the joke isn’t on me anymore. 
i could laugh and cry and vomit and hyperventilate if i think 
back to what i was a year ago today. no, really, i can’t fucking believe it. 
i was sleeping on the floor of my new apartment, without a bed or desire to care. 
i acquired a taste for seven hour naps in the middle of the 
day which led to me failing a class. i couldn’t read books
 without connecting each letter to spell your name and 
then ripping the pages out. i cried so hard i gagged myself 
into manic fits. this last year swallowed me whole and for 
far too long, i didn’t want to be thrown up. 

 has anyone ever said that time heals everything? if they did,
 they probably didn’t realize that time is just something a 
clock was built to read and people aren’t clocks. time didn’t help me
 heal, but i also can’t really tell you what did. i guess what
 no one tells you about sadness is that even sadness gets 
sick of you. after 8 months, the sadness just, sort of, stopped. 
i breathed. i learned how to love myself without justification. 
i took the subway by myself for the first time today (and i’ve lived in the city for nearly 3
 years). i know how to watch someone else floss their teeth
 and not immediately hate what they might have stored behind their molars. 
once i faced my biggest fear while drunk, i knew i could 
handle it sober. 

it’s almost april, and i’m not depressed anymore.
 i haven’t been for a few more months than i’ve admitted 
to. tomorrow is my new year but i’m not going to write 
about the bad parts of last year anymore. they can stay 
put where they were. what i will write about is being okay. 
i’m okay with the skin around my bones, and the extra skin 
around that skin. i’m okay with not knowing what my art
 means. i’m okay with being wrong and being right and
 being in between the two. i’m okay with being okay 
because i won’t be okay forever. and the next time 
someone asks me how i am, i am okay, really. i am. 


At fifteen you had the radiance of early morning, at twenty you will begin to have the melancholy brilliance of the moon.