these are all old bits and pieces i had started but lost interest in. i never did believe in myself.
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staring out my window i realized how cold it was, past the frost lining the sill. i didn't need to be outside to feel my toes freeze. guess everything is a lot colder when you are alone too, maybe they should make that a scientific fact- like being alone leaves you always at least 5 degrees colder.
the snow adding up outside made me wonder why anyone ever worked during the winter, why they didn't just save up all spring, summer and fall and spend the cold inside under blankets and weather. worse, it didn't seem to make much sense to me why there were people that would take $5 to spend an hour outside shoveling a driveway. it didn't seem worth the runny nose and frostbite that came afterwards. there was a knock on the door that interrupted my stare across the parking lot outside of my window. isn't it funny how the last person you ever want to see again is always the first you'll run into?
i was always drawing things in school. dead birds. dead things.
when i opened the door she came in from the cold without any mittens and told me i was all she had left, or whatever she knew i wanted to hear, just to have a place to stay. everything i wanted to hear aimed at my ears but meant for someone elses. backup plans a and b had failed in the time span of maybe a week. i guess i was the drawing board she was back to with a few marks still visible from the last few visits.
history is just the past without the feeling.
sometimes you can't tell what time it is, or how long you've been awake, but one thing you can always tell is when you're unwanted. but still i let her in, knowing i'd be called heartless a week later when she was calling from the safety of her new boyfriend's house, for whatever reason she could think up. sometimes i think she just liked to fight, because it was at least a way to be heard. me i just liked when we fought because she stopped paying attention to me when we weren't.
i must have been staring or something because the next thing i knew her froze, red hand was waving in front of my face. i offered a smile and she could have wiped it off my face. "sorry," i manage to say, almost without thinking about it because around girls like her it becomes automatic. it loses meaning. i could think of a few words i'd never say again, like "safe".
there's a knock at the door. i never said i wasn't expecting anyone, just that i wasn't expecting her. i look from her to the door, as if i have to choose one or the other, and little do i know- that's what i end up having to do. what if she ever felt the way i did, like i was always one foot in the door and the rest of the way out. would it even matter?
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subject: overheard, rough draft.
motto: even if it's shit, it's still lit.
body: write and improve.
date: r.i.p.
title: desperstation.
i hate being out this late.
i hate it. i absolutely hate it.
i want to be home now.
too long of a wait, too many people disconcerned with my own selfish concerns, too busy with their own.
rush hour.
i can hear her voice even though the phone still rings. i know she's staring at the phone. hating it, more and more each ring. she's alone at home, and i am alone too, but surrounded by strangers that don't notice me at all. it works, i don't notice them either.
"answer, answer," i plead and i don't know if it's out loud or to myself anymore at this point. i know she wants nothing to do with me. i want everything to do with her.
walking along the sidewalk, the phone still rings. when she finally answers she might as well have not at all. bad news, but is it better than no news?
this is almost absolutely the truth.
i need something to calm my nerves, a cigarette. taking out the pack, i light one up. she's still not answering on attempt three.
there is no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die.
attempt four. i start to wish lung cancer could rapidly happen overnight. over right now.
"please." but still no one answers, nothing. i start to wonder if she's even alone.
logic tries to make sense, asks me why i let her do this to me, but i ignore it. no one else matters. no one else ever will. i am too busy trying to get HER to answer me that i won't answer anyone else. maybe one day she'll pick up the phone, maybe one day i will be the last person on earth and she won't be able to ignore me.
logic stops trying. my heart is the most dangerous weapon anyone could hold against me.
things can't get worse and then they do. i see the bus i was supposed to catch passing by. temporarily (or was it gone before the incident) i lose my mind. i run out into the middle of traffic with my cigarette dangling between my fingers while it's at a red light and i knock on the door, but the driver shakes his head and refuses to open the door. i try again- it's a long red light- but no such luck.
have i lost my mind or finally gotten one of my own?
i move to stand in front of the bus, and i stay there, blocking it from being able to turn once the light is green. at this point i'm not thinking at all. people are honking, shouting. people are yelling things at me, all the names they call me online. they have places to go, i'm in the way. what i don't understand is the sides in traffic that i'm not blocking, why are they yelling?
people can't mind their own business. they are too busy in everyone else's.
the bus driver starts to go, slowly, but i stay, hand on the wiper. there is no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die. i pull out my phone and try her again. still no answer.
i feel weightless. i feel like the cars going by on either side of me are staring right through me even though they notice me. i move aside and feel alone again, even with all the eyes on me. none of them are the ones i want to see me. i don't even want them to look.
is this more or less of a deal than it feels like?
i walk back to the side of the road and feel embarrassed. tossing down my cigarette, i just walk. there's a bench but i don't feel like sitting. i was hungry but now i can't stand to eat. i'm disgusted with myself. i have no appetite.
i don't want pity but i want comfort. i finally get ahold of her, and tell her what happened. predictable: she doesn't care, she ignores me. as if this is an attempt for attention when i honestly temporarily lost my mind, i'm even scared of myself. but i get the feeling if the bus had kept going and ran me over, she would feel like she had one less problem to deal with. and that's my life: someone else's problem.
i light another cigarette and sit down on the next bench, staring at my knees. a car pulls up, "hey, i saw what you did out there. are you okay, what was going on?" at first i don't look up, and if i do i want to shield my face. "forget it, forget me." i say either out loud or in my head, again i can't tell. is it a news reporter? new news to everyone else, old news to me.
"hey, did you need a ride?" they are persistent.
"no i just wanted to go home." i am useless. not sure why i was even put on this earth at this point. i can't please everyone, or anyone. and no one cares to save me at this point. not even myself.
oh how i hate everyone, even her. i hate myself because of her. ignoring my calls. ignoring me. i realize that maybe all my problems are with someone that doesn't have to be a part of my life. but i let her be. i made her be. sure, i wrote her into my life story but she's deciding what her impact is. what role she's going to play.
like maybe, just maybe, i made my bed and let her sleep with someone else on it.
"i can take you home. really. the bus driver should have let you on." but i still don't want charity, i don't want pity. i just want a place to belong and that isn't even my home anymore.
but i look up, i stop struggling. if they're going to kill me they're putting me out of my misery- they are finishing the story for me. my pen is about out of ink as it is. there is no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die.
my emotions are dramatic, up and down. there is no happy medium. this is more a curse than it ever could be considered a blessing. especially when all your lows nearly drive you six feet under.
"okay." i stand up and go over to the car, pulling open the passenger side door. sitting down, i feel like second chances are given for a reason. i feel like life is yours to live as long as YOU live it. i feel like we all make mistakes but no one is born one.
somewhere someone is starving. somewhere someone is unable to provide for their family. somewhere someone is unable to walk without crutches. somewhere someone has to use a wheelchair to get around. somewhere someone is worried about how to make ends meet. somewhere someone can't pay the bills. somewhere someone would kill for a roof over their head. somewhere someone is. this makes my problems in paradise look like a scratch on a ferrari. while that makes it easier to deal, it still sucks to deal with.
as human beings i guess we can never ever stop being selfish. stop being ungrateful. stop being in the moment instead of getting out of it.
'push' comes on the radio, and i bite my lips in realizing how much i feel like i've been pushed around. the girl that asked me if i needed a ride in the driver seat next to me probably just feels like she's doing charity work, like giving a homeless cat you find in the backyard some food from the indoor one. maybe that is all i am, a wild cat in need of housebreaking. in need of a home. i'm a good deed without anything about me being good at all. funny how that works.
