Windows

"You're like a bird that keeps hitting a window."
I was propped up on my arms, staring out at the lake, the Molly taking effect.
"It's true. That, and I have attachment issues."

I panicked.
He called me and said that if I didn't make my absolute choice (which I've been asked to do fifty million times anyway) that he was just going to stay in Denver.
For someone that's going to have their degree in Psychology in December you would think I could get to the root of this.
I struggle beyond words with letting people out of my life.
It doesn't matter if they're toxic.
It doesn't matter if it wasn't my fault.
It doesn't matter if it's better for me that way.
He asked and begged too many times and now my resolve has holes.
Help.

I laid on my stomach on the towel smoking a Swisher.
Sunshine on my back, her boyfriend asking me about my tattoos.
I never smoke.
Only when I'm being a bird, perpetually hitting the window.

It's a different kind of high.
Calm.
Not intense, just euphoric.
Sort of floating.
The wind felt good on my skin and I think for the first time I felt aware of my body in a good way.
I wanted to stay in my bikini forever.
It was as though my skin was a silk sash on the breeze.
Clean air.
Softness.
Reality.
It was there, just plain.
I would melt if I could, maybe fade away.

Sometimes, well, all the time we're messes.
We're all floundering around, having our own struggles.
Humanity.
Perpetual and endless.
Somehow we interlock existences, paining each other and making it worthwhile in other instances.

"I think you'll do it, I'm just afraid it'll be too late for you and L and he'll leave."
Me too.
He said he wouldn't.
That doesn't mean you can take forever.
I feel trapped and powerless anymore.
Somehow two people fell in love with me.
I was worth it and beautiful in some way and yet I don't feel like either of those things.
I just want to peel these emotions off like old skin.
Start over.
I deviated from the plan again, God.
Comfort got the upper hand today.
Still shocked that I did that.
I'm sure more than a few of you are face palming me.

It just felt good to walk, feeling my eyes dilating as another wave of high came.
Summer evenings could have me forever. I would slip between petals of flowers and remember that flying isn't a sedentary hope.
Open me up.
I'm just as curious to see what's inside.

I'm tired of hitting windows.