Turpentine

I chose to wait. I decided that waiting for the ultimate final destination was better than moving on to mediocrity. So when I see that they're lives are moving on without me, why do I feel saddened? I don't regret my decision 95% of the time, but the other 5% are just an agonizing and circuitous slideshow of all the reasons I have to melt my sword down and start hammering it into a better shape. I am walking ambivalence, and the people I love pay the price more than I do sometimes. It's so selfish to want anything in a world that makes it impossible to achieve a single goal without feeling the flesh of an innocent person's face against the sole of your boot. It isn't fair that instead of using this fervent realization of my mistakes to fix the things I broke, I just sleep on the couch and stare at the ceiling, praying for rain to wash it all away (or at least give me a miserable enough head cold to wipe the slate clean). I don't want to be Meredith Grey, I really wish I wasn't Meredith Grey. Excuses pave the way through my maze of hallucinatory, straight-faced humor. It's this twisted gut reaction to lean towards the "i'm fine" approach that keeps me believing in crossed fingers and lucky pennies. There is nothing worse than straddling the line between harboring a delusional, innocent hope alongside an insatiable hunger for the ability to hope. There is nothing worse than trying to be yourself and getting tangled in your personalities. There is nothing worse than knowing that you're on display for an empty gallery. My chest is open, exposing my beating heart, and even the crickets are too busy to chirp away tonight. At least for tonight, it's quiet.

copyright Yasamin Aftahi 2011