Life is not a journey. a locationless stroll through a wooded glen near the lake is a journey. finding the movie theater in a foreign city without using GPS is a journey. a group of talented musicians my dad loved listening to every sunday on the long way home from church, that is journey. Life is some sort of conflicted struggle. My heart sits heavy in my chest on Monday, and Tuesday i cant remember what a cloud looks like - much less what pain a storm can bring. i am weightless. suspended. floating between the hydrogen and oxygen molecules, but never drowning. not yet at least
"why would you date someone for 7 months when they constantly went back to their ex boyfriend; i mean who does that to themselves?"
all i could do was stare at her bedroom wall, where my birthday card hung, and quietly mouth out the words, “i do, thats me, i do..” over and over again as reality began to nest itself in the branches of my exhausted mind.