Negative Space

sometimes you’re in the car and you’re wondering - where the fuck am i going? what am i doing? why don’t i just go do anything else?

and sometimes you’re in the car and you’re wondering - how did i get so lucky? how is this real? am i grateful enough for all that has been done for me?

sometimes you type the text you shouldn’t send and you send it. and sometimes you don’t send it but you do have a full conversation with your dog about it. and sometimes you aren’t really sad yet but you can feel it percolating under the surface, hissing like it knows it will overcome you if you let it. and sometimes you aren’t really happy yet either but you get the same kind of something; a beautifully fine edge like the hair on the back of her neck. like if you reach out you could brush against a meadowed life. and sometimes quiet is just comfortable and sometimes it’s what isn’t being said and sometimes it’s a horrible exit. 

and you want to tell your past self - we made it out and we found a home! but you know she wouldn’t understand, because she doesn’t know what home is yet. and besides, you still say “im going home for the holidays”. you mess up and call the hotel home when you mean safe. sitting around a campfire, you find a warmth inside of their laughter, you mess up and call that feeling lovely when you mean belonging. 

and sometimes you’re like - wow! i’m really glad i’m alone for this. and sometimes it’s like. fuck thank god im not alone anymore. and you aren’t alone anymore. or if you are alone, you’re okay with it, because you are someone else now, and can be alone and happy about it. 

and sometimes it’s like. my childhood ended. i don’t know when. but i’m about to go close another part of it. i am aging, or i did age somewhere and forgot to notice it. the spoons are where we keep them, but the back of my hands have new scars and my sense of time is different.