Wishing I Had a Cigarette || LateNightMusings 01/04/18

Before reading, it's important that you put on some mood music, kind of like what I'm listening to now: https://open.spotify.com/track/6YbqjyoqQx9p13IndkOzeP

I had this realization standing in the corner of the kitchen tonight, watching my sisters laugh on the couch, the sides of their eyes crinkling. This is the last time it will ever be this way. The last time we will watch a coming-of-age comedy and laugh at how stupid it all is, recalling our own scorned teenage love affairs as though they are so distanced from us; pretend we have vapid things that we ruminate about behind our buckled mouths.

My sisters and I are bonded by many things. The most binding? My sisters and I know grief. We understand the jealousy of watching normality float by for days, weeks, or months at a time, wondering what it feels like to be made a cup of hot tea that isn't an apology. Wishing for anything consistent. Shoo-ing away foreign regrets. I think I'd make a great rock climber because I've had a habit of latching onto anything that holds me up and stays true.

I know who I am. I know I am kin of smolder and skipping stones, diet Coke and antidepressants. Every time I hear any song by Norah Jones I want to plug my ears and dip my head underwater - let my hair drift from shoulder to shoulder, everything muted and sterile. Checking out is practically a hobby at this point. If you don't think I'm half deaf, I'm in love with you.

I know I am too warm, and that I love anything beautiful and clean. I know that I love everyone, maybe too easily. I know I truly love so many people that I do not trust. I know I want a cigarette just as bad as I want to run a mile effortlessly and that I cannot have both. My walk has been a long one. A constant battle of thirst and will.

After the aforementioned movie I was in the bath, reading in patchouli-rich steam and heaved at the thought that one sister will pass before the other two. I promise, I'm really not trying to be morose, but its unavoidable to attribute darkness to certain states of change. So I ask you this one question: who knows you, when the people you've surely grieved with are gone?

Follow if you like, I'm not always this moody.