#unsaidunknown

france was unexpected. the toilet paper is blue and inflation is high and everyone smokes and the metro is shady and the air in rennes is frigid. the waiters are rude. the hotel staff was sassy. and somehow, my subconscious failed to register the fact that everything is in french. which yes, it's france, but i hadn't fully considered it. but, french is beautiful and rich as it drips off natives' tongues, and the seine carries solemnly throughout the city, and paris is a city of aesthetics and tranquil parks and lights, lights, lights. i tried escargot. i watched one of my favorite tv shows in french. i ate macaroons, crepes and passion-fruit ice cream. i lit a candle in a cathedral in my father's honor. i looked out onto france's coast, enthralled by the crumbs of islands littering the water. i woke up at midday almost every day; i saw fabulous art; my mom said i came home with less tension and stress in my face. i was happy. 

anxiety, my old friend aiding and berating setting up for the greatest fall fact or fiction but maybe the answer was just blueberries so what does one do when it all comes down? plastic claims with thinner roots, pipe bombs in heavy hearts shrinking shrinking ever shrinking torn by shrapnels worn from grief fingers are passing through and through old shirts with ribcages from the graveyard stones  constantly reminded that we are just side effects  of breathing poorly — fall and fall because you can’t catch a fading rainbow

“are you really here?” the endless days faster pace for beating hearts falling forwards sinking backwards worn thin from the heat sunken eyes from sleepless nights and watch the fall animate the leaves while the sun scoffed  at the trees and wondering if it’s all a metaphor, still thinking about the future and fragments of clocks ticking backwards brisk in temperament changes the air autumn days breed heavy wind on the cusp of what’s to come because heaven and hell are not done with me yet 

the skies bleed blue and i pocketed it, hoping to fall for my dreams, as if they were unattainable, perfection from the palm of my mind flown too high to ever annex, even though they were birthed within the bluest blue in me like the synapses cursed by the asymptotes that bridged gaps between the breathes while the black gold birds nested in

nothing --

we are like baby birds, petty wings flapping, wicked wings before we were ever conceived, were ever preconceived notions, were ever ideas, fragmented thoughts and it feels as if we remain just as broken in our wholeness whole as the broken, a tragedy that forged the perfect crime where answers are estimates, leftover time are as real as the blacks and the whites nameless identities shooting ourselves over and over and over until we become bullet-ridden heart beats still beating with absolutes:

because size cannot terminate existence

and like at a certain point you just give up because you know they dont get it and to them giving up means their victory so that gets me even MORE mad. ugh. i. had similar experiences. way too many times.

i never know how to respond to these type of comments because i get so worked up and they all treat me as if i am about to blow up “for nothing” and makes me feel shittier even more.

I need to write more.