all i do is repeat myself

The sun is finally setting and in the window sill I'll lay with golden legs that speak in beads of sweat and fingertips sticky and red from a sugary syrup that touched no one's tongue but my own. We all have the love/hate relationship with this season. There's no time for thinking because our brains get to sleep even when our bodies are on, and slowly with ease we unwind the bolts from our necks and say goodbye to our makers because it's our time to loosen out of routine and fly at rampant speed. Air is thick and suddenly I remember all the hands I've held and secrets told, mostly into a sister's ear that always listened but never repeated. Did you know ears can speak? They do. They whisper back all the words overheard when you think you're just the white noise in a room. There's the impression, right up there, right above you. It means nothing when you can't really see it though, right? The dog at my lap looks at me with sad eyes the way everyone looks at me when I stay still. I tap her snout and ask her why the long face? but nobody else in this room thinks it's as funny as I do.

Chaos is beginning to melt and cool beneath teary eyes because everything you hated about yesterday is now obsolete and all the dead trees have found new ways to blossom again. All the food you love tastes better and all the books you read become more alive in your hands and all the dreams you have last longer now because this is our time to be calm again. Even with new schedules and a kaleidescope of memories that have yet to be invented, we're falling faster than we had before and whether you're ready to admit it or not, we like it. It's kind of freeing.

Beneath glass is where you'll find me. I like to think I'm hiding because I like to think I'm clever, but it isn't true. I'm in clear view and every move I make is so fucking obvious I could bleed clear liquids and it would still shine redder than the gums overflowing beneath all the kisses you tried so hard to make real. You're trying, I can smell it. It's not a truthful scent, this I assure you. Suck in breaths as hard as you can and take her in like the taste of a drug you've never known before. I remember what it feels like, I do. I remember itchy collarbones and mapping secrets across broken skin, it's something I'm fond of looking back on. Sometimes I look back so much that I can't see the crisp view of right now, right this very second, because what does this second matter if it is no longer building on yesterday? There is work to be done, but lazy crickets just like to jump and play and I don't ever feel bad enough for dancing with them, even during the stormiest nights. My bones ache for a fight that I'll never get and a pace much faster than my feet can carry. The night falls thicker and all I've managed are a few clumsy words for you to keep in your pocket and forget about until they are crumpled and washed and blurred into a bigger mess than before. I'm so hyped that I'm choking and I'm still not sure when oxygen decided to leave, but it happened sometime between all your distractions and pauses and oh I'm sorrys because you weren't that sorry, and I don't blame you. Silence is weighing down on me and I can't fucking breathe, do you hear me? I can't fucking breathe. My fingers are begging to grip and cling and hold onto something solid, but you're shaking and faltering and looking the other way. The inside of my mouth has been chewed raw and I'll blame you until it heals, which I hope will be close to soon. It isn't your fault that it's come to this, and it isn't your fault for not realizing, either. Bless me in your somber tones before I awake in the bitter cold again.

Just relax, just breathe, just breathe breathe breathe. Do you know how obsessive we are about talking about breathing? Do you have any idea how much attention we focus on something that we'd like to think isn't as trivial and involuntary as it turns out to be? With that said, I want to inhale all my flavor back like the scandals that once made us weak. I was prettier and more attentive and less rough around the edges. I didn't concentrate so much goddamn much on all the things I would never be but instead would strive for something better than I was. Now I just expect constant forgiveness. Forgive me for all I do wrong and step around all my cracks and broken vessels that burst too quickly for any of us to really be able to prepare for. I'll only ruin myself if I think no one's watching, and total destruction comes when everyone is. What can I say, I'm a crier! I cry over shoelaces if the timing is right. It doesn't mean what it should, but when does it ever? Lie beneath these lazy summer limbs and I'll teach you all the stories that you grew up learning wrong.

You're not going to scratch the surface, and that's okay. You're not going to make toy soldiers come alive and you're not going to create the worlds you envision on lonely nights because you can't play god when gravity meets the equation. We're defeated by science every day, but we still keep trying because it's very human of us to hope for more. I'm still hoping for more, and that's okay. Lungs have yet to collapse entirely which I'm pretty sure is a sign of longevity, but I can't be too sure and that could just be the hope again. It's draining out of me, fast and in rivers, and when I'm floating, you'll know. I'll wave, lending complacent smiles, because it's kind of been this dream of mine to do. If gravity sneaks up on you, that's okay. Hope can never be suffocated entirely and there's always more to borrow from others. If you're scared too, that's okay. Something solid is bound to show up eventually. Promise.