I hope you know that you mean a lot to a lot of people.
My life now consists of 'notify sender of new address' stickers on my mail, and pieces of paper my mom writes down grocery lists and gives to me because she's too tired or busy to go to the store and it's okay because I like going. Of gas, food, clothing, and miscellaneous item receipts because I've gotten into the habit of keeping them. New pens for my journals, disposable cameras, library books. A package from my friend who lives in florida, and I still have the bubble envelope. Old receipts stuffed into my purse. Asking friends to model for me, then coming back and sorting through 200 pictures to find the right ones. My room is different. It's nice and open. The ceiling is higher, and the walls are blank. To go somewhere in my car I have to go down a flight of stairs, out a door, take a right. CDs are in my glove box, because I can't plug my phone into the radio, and because the bass in my car is perfect. I miss my green ford ranger almost every day. All of my other stuff is in storage, and I don't have as many stuffed animals on my bed anymore.
I'm not complaining, this experience is interesting. In a few weeks, things will go back to normal. Except I will probably still keep every receipt I get. But my tiny red car will be parked out front, and my mail will no longer have those yellow/white stickers on them.
I don't want to dwell on the past, but I can't seem to ignore the cuts and bruises. But maybe that's what the future is for, to clean up the cuts and put ice on the bruises.
You still show up in my dreams at night. This is not how I wish to see you.
You were the moon; ghostly and looming. I was the lightening; formidable and opaque.
We started as lovers, across a sea of stars. But the immense and powerful waves of emotion had taken their toll. You cried that I was too sporadic, and untouchable. I screamed that you were too trivial, and distant.
I guess the only thing we had in common, was that we were both lonely lights shining brightly in the vast and cold sky.
Things have changed. My day to day routine starts with "what should I do today" and ends with "what should I do tomorrow?" My room is an absolute mess, and my clean cloths sit on my bed just waiting to be folded. I have made a new friend, who I can share my creativity with. It's getting harder to comfortably use any down-time I have, because I know I should be keeping busy. My hair is black now, and my wardrobe is changing. I am buying more makeup than I ever have in my life, but it's okay because I have a makeup buddie to shop with. My tiny red car has a dent in it from when I drove home from work at 2 am. I am hardly getting any mail nowadays, and I barely touch my paints and washi tapes. My energy is being slowly depleted. Things are happening right before my eyes and I can't get them to slow down. I can feel a change in the air and in my lungs. My walls are still purple, and I still miss my ford ranger every day. I still have CDs in my glove box. I still save my receipts, but they sit on my desk, collecting dust.
This experience will be interesting. But I can't help how scared I am.
I am hurting, while simultaneously healing.
We drove to a movie store by your house, called Movies Etc., and we rented a Shirley Temple movie. You bought me candy, and we went back to the house to watch the movie. We sat in the recliner together, the dark night outside keeping us cozy inside.
There was a blue hue to the room when I quietly and timidly walked in. It was early morning, probably. I crawled into bed, between you and Grandpa.
Sitting at the table, I ate peanut butter and crackers. The peanut butter was sticking in my mouth, and you asked me if I wanted some milk to go with it. You poured it into a Blues Clues cup. The rubber circles on the outside kept me occupied.
Sneaking into the closet where you kept your heels felt rebellious to me at the time. I sifted through the shoes to pick the one that I thought might make the most noise when I walked out onto the kitchen tile, because I wanted to show you and mom how grown up I could be.
You have changed, and I have changed.