“Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different?”
A change of scenery is eating yogurt with granola on the opposite end of the couch, watching the sun set from a different window, choosing not to make the bed even though making it lights something inside your chest, like you’ll be peeling back the sheets after a busy day, taking off your jeans and sighing the stress out of your shoulders, pouring the glass of wine with a quiet I earned it.
Instead each day is a series of standing up and sitting down in various rooms, opening and then closing the blinds while asking yourself what the point of opening them in the first place was, vacuuming the living room again asking yourself what the point of it was, washing the throw blanket no one used asking yourself what the point of it was.
You snap lighthearted photos and make jokes on the internet then roam the canned goods aisle in the grocery store looking for some kind of self assurance. You are actively forgetting what it’s like to feel like a whole entire human and it’s both numbing and terrifying.
Moments in flashes like passing trains remind you of the world out there: park meetups and text messages. When did everything get so tangled up that we get high on human interaction? Take the hit, take the risk, if you were fine this time you’ll be fine the next, right?
A lump in your throat is an understatement. Sometimes it all feels like swallowing glass; you reach for a solution but it’s like trying to catch smoke in your hand. You try to explain it to anyone but anyone is the ocean – drift, sink, gone.