Friday, January 25, 2013

Which one of us is free.

Every year this happens.
"It's me again! Oh hello mirror." I'm sitting on my bed, looking at my body. Its naked. I've spent the past two weeks in a flurry, hurriedly exercising (IF YOU DON'T TRAIN INSANE, YOU REMAIN THE SAME!) spreading honey over my body, painting parts of myself, removing hair from other parts. I've crunched, and plucked and exfoliated and provided ample amounts of moisturizer to everywhere. I'm sore and clean, and I kinda feel brand new. As if the cold, dreary sludge of winter that I let get caked into all of my pores had finally been sloughed off, as if the outer protected shell had been released and here I stand now, at my tentative best.

I think I'm ready finally. I quiver in my bed smiling maniacally Upward into the darkness. 
My empty tummy groans but it's worth it. 
There are only two sleeps left. 

I start to become uneasy, tossing and turning, flinging an arm/pillow; it becomes hot suddenly. 

My passport, sitting at attention on my nightstand consoles me. 

"It's okay! Just rest. Just BREATHEEEEE. You're alright." I am clearly not alright, I am weary and sad I realize.

"No one will even question it! They think you are a lesbian anyway!" I flip over away from the nightstand, slamming a pillow Over my ear. Yet I still hear it.

"They were all ALONE at one time! They were all lost man! The beginning of their careers were milestones on the journey, not the starting point."

I start sobbing silently. What the heck does that dumb little booklet thi-

"STOP FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF! Everything is incredible right now! It is about to become more incredible-er if you would just hush your mouth and fall asleep, just let it happen."

I slowly calm down, and eventually roll back, eyes pointed towards the planes.