July Waiting Room

From the archives, written 2 summers ago. Somehow, is still relevant.

I realized once I got older, summer lost its charm it had over me. It’s no longer a season of freedom, but one of surrendering. I realize I don’t want much, but a chance to have the spring back once more. Or hope that the summer will draw close quickly and give me the grace of the fall.

But until then, I’m stuck in this pseudo-limbo of some sort. Where I’m not entirely miserable, but not happy. I got a job, but somehow money didn’t fix my problems like it used to. I lose a piece of myself every time I go to work. I lose my autonomy, as I sell it away every day to some capitalist piece of shit that gives me little in return. Yet I find joy in the bus rides, those early mornings. They have begun to be contaminated by your scent and your memory. You pollute my vacation, even though you are so far from me.

I am trying to find spaces you wouldn’t occur in. In the shower, letting the warm water possess me in some new ways while it pelts at my skin. I saw a spider crawling on the tile walls, but didn’t have the heart to kill it. I don’t want to ruin another life.

I visited children and saw how envious women get. A little girl showed me her back bend, while an older woman looked in a jealous spite. Wishing her body looked the same as a prepubertal child. Why are we expected to look like we have never grown up, but our sensuality must double each day? When I was a child, I looked up to the rounded bellies and crow lines in the eyes that beam smiles. I knew they were filled with love and memories that I was yet to understand. Now I understand some version of it, but my eyes reflect the sorrow of what I found in the place of love.

How mundane adult life is versus how you made me feel. Like I was seen for the first time in my life. Like I had a place and a home wrapped up in your arms and a smile that resided equally on both of our faces. How foolish of me to believe you solely gave that feeling to me. You don’t know how you radiate to the world. You are something special, but you don’t believe it. You made so many girls feel this way. So I realize I wasn’t any different, but God, I wish I was. I wish I was the one.

There’s nothing found in my wishing, other than remorse. I could string along the word regret, but I don’t think there was anything I could’ve done differently to have made you stay. You were always meant to leave, and I was always meant to have this fate. Of being alone, getting lost back into the crowd. I dulled down. I am no one again. I am sad. And I’m trying to hold on to the good in life, but I found I am at a loss, because I built a sense of belonging around you, through you. Without you, I am. . . I don’t know what I am. I know what I am not – in love or lucky.

So I take my wins as they come. Like the peace I find in the hot shower. I didn’t see the spider during my next shower, but I saw its smushed body outside the bathroom door. I said a prayer because I imagined a world where I get left and harmed, abandoned like that. I pray for a better ending.

Even with all the pain you are having me endure, I still am fond of you. I still want you. I still have this notion that I want to be with you forever. One that no one else can understand. They tell me it’s not real love, you’ll move on and find someone else. But are my feelings not legitimate and real now? Can’t I feel in love and heartbroken and lost just as much as I can accept I am still young and in store for so much more? I am trying to move on, I really am. You don’t make it easy.

I saw someone’s post online. My heart caught on fire, because I told it to. It’s all manual nowadays, nothing is automatic, nothing is real. As real as it was with you. But I found it dying down when I realized I strategically picked them because they reminded me of you. They were you, but they could never be all that I miss.

I’m sorry, I will try to let you breathe, let you live your life, because you don’t deserve this burden. Because somewhere deep in this pile of thoughts and feelings, I would feel terrible if you were muddled by me. So I’ll let you live, without saying what needs to be said.

And I’ll replay our last interaction before you left: you asked for a hug. I hugged you tighter than you hugged me. Your scent lingered in the air. You said I will see you around eventually. There were tears in your eyes, but not because of me. You zipped up your jacket and left out of my sight forever. I should’ve known a piece of me was meant to die the moment you left, but I keep replaying that moment in hopes I would catch it again, before it gets lost indefinitely. But in some fortunate way, I never will.