right now: a reflection

...

it is a strange feeling to have been so excited for something for so long

and then as it finally nears and the prospect of it actually happening is so real

that you begin to sink into a sea of fear and confusion.

questions like

why did i put this off for so long?

will it ever feel the same?

will it ever be the same?

will everything fall apart?

i find myself looking around more often than i ever have before. taking it in. noticing:

how the entry way from the dining room to the kitchen to the hallway to my parents room looks and how it lines up and the spectrum of shadows. the colors of that lamp. the paintings in the dining room. the flaws in the wood floors. the lines in their face. the colors in their eyes. hands. how the face contorts to smile.

i have so much lying ahead of me the next few months. but i have really done nothing for the past month. and i've noticed:

my sleeping patterns are parallel to my cats. the house cools down when everyone is asleep. how i've become afraid to answer the door. i don't paint anymore. my piano is out of tune. no matter how many times i tell myself to wake up early and watch the sunrise i still wake up no earlier than 10:30 (this is sad).

i finished a book called the perks of being a wallflower two days ago. and since then all i feel like doing is reading.

...

rain

it was so dry.

she looked at her hands and they were ashy and white.

"is it really this dry?", she thought.

it hasn't rained in. she can't remember.

she does remember, though, when the heat would set with the sun.

the nights would be cool. and lively. couples would pull each other towards one another. body heat.

now. the sun sets but the heat lingers.

it settles in corners and surfaces.

cats find tile to lie on. but even that feels warm.

people avoid touching.

she turns out all the lights.

sleep.

but she can't sleep. she isn't tired. her heart is. and her mind is. but her eyes and her mouth and her hands need.

she turns on her night lamp and grabs a book. she handles it with force. touch.

her eyes are wide (and sore) and she is inspecting every word carefully.

her mouth is dry. it needs to speak. it hasn't spoken. spoken. in so long.

she reads the words out loud.

the air is piercing her eyes now. it is too painful.

she closes her eyes. the book. her hands. and she breathes.

the silence is frightening.

she misses the rain.

she imagines the rain is falling outside and it helps her fall asleep.