that’s just how she is, they say. she’s just crazy, they say. but it’s so true. it’s so true that all she can do is laugh. she once thought her ribs would always be stained with cheap gin and that her eyes would always be the reflection of yesterday. and they were, for a while, for a long while. but she learned that even though she grows sad, sometimes she becomes happy. and sometimes it stays. sometimes it goes, but the most important thing is that she feels it. and that even though people leave without saying goodbye, sometimes they come back in bits and pieces at a time. sometimes they don’t, and she’s had to learn to not to take this personally but to take this lightly. sometimes it becomes heavy, but she reminds herself that loneliness is temporary. and she told herself what she has to believe in is not the outcome, but the belief itself. throughout the years she’s finally come to know she is not a collection of neurotic behaviors, at least the debilitating kind, because sometimes she tricks herself into thinking lies are truths. and she’s learned that although she breaks, she heals. and she always tells herself she’ll never love at all, that her heart is made of stone, that she’s independent. but that’s another lie. she’s so independent she becomes dependent. that’s how it always works for her — her heart is either utterly free or completely latched. and she laughs, because she spends all her time trying to be something less than a romantic. but it’s written in her very skin.
(july 8 2013)