Dear College Reader… me again,

It’s been a couple months, a lot has changed. In approximately 30 hours I will have to plunge headfirst into your world, ready or not.

I told you before that I have bent, folded, and shaved off the idiosyncrasies, made myself two dimensional, and now — now you’ve figuratively and physically slapped me in the face with a decision that has so many facets to it I don’t think it belongs in the three dimensional world.

Every time I try to settle my heart and think about this I feel ill. Like I can’t think straight, like I’m drowning.

Explain to me how you chose me, so that I may choose you. Explain to me how I can possibly know what I want. Explain to me how I can barely stand to look at the name of college, imagine myself at college, without feeling like I’m buried alive with fear of making the wrong decision and hating myself for it.

Photo Credit: joshuanhook.com

I feel as though I am still stuck as two dimensions and that this decision requires at least four dimensions to be safe but actually in reality somewhere around six.

I am in fact more terrified now, the future now rests in my hands, not yours. What if mine aren’t big enough, what if they shake too much, what if they go to pull the wrong lever?

I have never been so scared in my life. I am so incredibly scared to make a decision that I won’t be able to live with, that I will close a door that would have been perfect.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, the hours are passing by, I have finals and APs coming but all I can do is sit and stare into space wondering what the hell I’m going to do with myself. Which in turn makes me more nervous because if this is how I’m handling it how am I going to handle the actual stress of college?

I’m left with the ultimate feeling of: if I feel like I’m pulling apart at the seams now, college is going to break me, and I don’t want to be broken.

Everyone else seems so able to say: “F**k it this is where I’m going.” They seem so okay, I can’t see if they feel like they’re dying inside, they all seem impervious to the nerves and the fear that they won’t live up to what they have told themselves they can do.

I haven’t lived nearly as much life as you, college reader, so what do I have to decide with, a handful of microbes in my gut that feel like they’ve just gotten off the teacup ride ready to vomit?

I don’t know what to do, who to be? Do I have the strength to rise in adversity, to swallow up those things that would make me sink? Do I have it in me to carve out my own path and people? How do I decide between totally different things that pull on me the same?

So, college reader, I told you who I was, apparently you liked me and now here I am.

What do I do now?

Advertisements

Warm Summer Days Indoors

There was a certain amount of comfort to be had in overheating, he thought, it was a constant of summer and reminder that he was alive, he supposed.

Looking through the windowed roof of the day room with the comforting presence of her head on his stomach he couldn’t help but wonder at the heat, even indoors with the overhanging shade of the trees above the day room, it was stifling.

He felt her shift against his bottom rib on the left side, the small huff of breath that almost said: what to do? but then she settled back down and closed her eyes.

What to do indeed, heat washed over every thing in his head. It was sluggish and he watched the shadows on the panes of the roof sway with shadows from the trees that swayed lightly in the humid breeze. What to do?

Photo Credit: digsdigs.com

They were wasting time he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He let his hand idly bush through her hair, burning up from the sunlight it had absorbed. He was glad she had stuck around, it was a good feeling.

When she was around he could pretend it didn’t feel like he was falling apart. Laying there on the floor in the heat it felt like the brittle glue holding him together had melted again into place, whole.

In the sun it was perfect, her hand rested lightly on his ribs, the knuckle of her middle finger skimming the patch of t-shirt over his heart. Time was passing by him at an alarming rate, it made his heart race — there wasn’t enough time to begin with, why was he squandering it?

A bell sounded from further in the house and his blood recoiled, the hand in her hair tensed and pulled at the strands, he could hear footsteps approaching. It had reached the hour, he should get back to work but his hand stayed in her hair.

He placed his other hand over her upturned one on his chest and closed his eyes, sunlight warming his eyelids.

It was oppressively hot but that was okay for him, it was okay for her and the footsteps receded almost as soon as they were heard.

continuing on

i’m stressed.

beyond words, feelings, and emotions.

i feel the whole world watching my next move but every step i take is somehow five steps backward.

i know that if i tell someone it would help me so much, but if i tell someone it will hurt the person i care about most.

this person means so much to me and i don’t want to hurt them in any manner.

but the weight of what they don’t know is closing in on me and it may kill me before they realize.

i can’t allow them to continue because i know that by the end they will be hurt worse than before.

 

Photo Credit: anxiwarrior.files.wordpress.com

 

my heart races when it’s brought up and tears grow in my eyes.

i could cry for hours and hours but still no one would notice.

and who could i tell?

i can’t confide in them because it’ll hurt me too much and i can’t confide in anyone else, it’ll just hurt them.

i’m so scared for them, because when the truth is released it will slowly break them, until they are nothing and i am nothing.

if i tell them, i will break as well, they will lose their trust in me just like i have lost it in myself.

how have i gone on this long without breaking is beyond my understanding?

but now i am breaking.

i’m crumbling.

and no one seems to notice.

i’ll be gone and everyone will continue on.

goodbye

you know, i write all these poems for you,

but what if when we meet again it’s different.

the world is still on your shoulders,

but in a new way.

your hair doesn’t flop the same way.

our conversations are short and stunted.

our awkward moments too awkward.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

when you see me again,

it won’t be like the millions of times i’ve played it over in my head.

everything will be different.

and, i’m scared as hell,

because i want our same.

i want our drawn out conversations about everything and nothing at the same time.

i want when you think of me,

instead of letting the thought float by,

to pick up the phone and call me.

i want our effortlessness and our groove.

the way we worked together was unbelievable.

i can’t imagine you without your snide comments and brilliant random thoughts.

i can’t imagine you with me, without our little quirks.

if we meet again,

it can’t be anything different,

because then we’re already too far apart.

we’re in different universes

when we need to be in the same rooom.

for you.

i think about you everyday.

sometimes i welcome those thoughts.

sometimes i try to push them

as far into the back of my mind as possible.

today i’m choosing the latter,

but lately i haven’t had much success.

image from pinterest.com

i loved you so much i hated you.

i hated the way i forgot about

everything

once you started to speak.

i hated the way you asked me how i was

and the way you looked at me

because it made me break

into a million pieces.

i hated you because you were kind and

because now matter how hard i tried

you would never see how

every little thing you did made me

fall in love with you.

i hope you read this.

and i hope you wonder if it might be about you.

i hope you second-guess yourself,

like i always did,

and i hope you replay

every image you have of us

to see if you can find any similarities

between my words and your memories.

maybe then you’ll miss me.

The Crystal

“Strikingly beautiful,” he mumbled, while setting the crystal back on the heavy wooden desk. “And you’re sure it’s magical?”

I have to chuckle, distractedly, still staring at the emerald-and-gold-shimmering rock, that might as well be a huge, beautiful piece of beach glass.

“Yes, it definitely is magical,” I say, still notably distracted.

via 78.media.tumblr.com

“Well… what does it do? Does it like… give you superpowers? Can it freeze time? Can you kill people with it??” he looks so excited, almost spilling his boiling hot coffee he is holding in his scarred hands all over the floor. The image of this huge, burly guy almost hyperventilating because of a little shiny crystal is straight up ridiculous, and I can’t help but laugh.

“It can tell lies from the truth,” I say, quietly, but he hears me. “It’s magical. I know it.”

He hardly looks hyper now, his face turns back to its suspicious nature that I adore so much, and I can tell that he doesn’t quite believe me.

“And how do you know that? I mean… what even… what?

“It had a note with it. In the box I found it in. And it said ‘I will illuminate any lie with the color of lies, lie to me twice and you will die.'”

“Okay. Now wait a second, you want me to believe you that this… chunk… a beautiful chunk, don’t get me wrong. But you’re saying it has magical powers?”

“Yes.”

“And that it can tell lies from the truth?”

“Yes.”

“And that it can kill people???”

“Yes.”

He stares at me for a second, and all his fascination has now left his face completely.

“What the hell Jamie? Are you okay? Did you fall on your head or something? I swear to God…”

“No, Mason, I swear, it works. Just look.”

I pick up the crystal from the desk and put it in my hands, holding it in front of me like a raw egg.

“Okay, I am going to tell it a truth now, and it will recognize it. Just watch.”

I clear my throat, and raise my left eyebrow, like I always do when I am serious about something.

“Crystal. Listen. I’m going to tell you a truth now. Trump is a horrible president.”

The crystal, making no sound, starts glowing brightly and warm, like you would imagine the truth to look like. Mason is staring at it, in disbelief I think, then turns to me, looking a little more fascinated again.

“Okay, now, this is pretty impressive. And good choice on the truth, I gotta agree with the crystal here. But that doesn’t prove anything. Maybe there are batteries in here. I mean, how would this even work? Tell a lie. Show me that it actually works.”

“Well I haven’t tried lying to it yet. I don’t wanna die, you know?”

“You are not gonna die, Jamie. First of all, this is a rock.”

“Crystal.”

“Whatever. What I mean is that it won’t kill you. Besides, you don’t have to lie to it twice, you’ll be fine. Come on.”

“Why don’t you do it then?”

“Okay fine.” He takes the crystal out of my hands, carefully, as if he actually knew how precious it.

“Okay, crystal.” He looks around, making sure no one is watching him. “A lie. A lie. What is a lie?”

“Just say ‘I love Jamie’ or something.”

He looks down to his feet, a little too nervously. “No. Uh, something else.”

“Come on just say it if you can’t think of anything else. ”

He looks at me, a little unsure, then sighs. “Okay. Whatever. Crystal, I love Jamie.”

The crystal lights up again, green and warm. I stare at it, not knowing what to think. I is green. It is warm. It is true? “You love me.” I say, still staring at the brightly glowing crystal. “You love me.”

“No, no I don’t. It doesn’t work. It’s broken. That’s it. It’s broken.” He looks nervous. Of course. He loves me, I had no idea. “You love me.” What do I do? I need to tell him. I need to tell him now. I grab the crystal out of his hands, holding it tight. He is just staring at me, probably just as overwhelmed as me.

“Crystal,” I say, with trembling voice, “Crystal, I don’t love Mason.”

The crystal begins to glow again, but differently than before. It is red, dark, and cold blue inside. It’s a lie. It works. It knows. I love him. I always have. I had no idea he loved me too.

“Jamie–”

Before he can say anything, I grab his head and kiss him, the crystal pressed against our chests.

Everything feels green and golden and warm. It feels like truth, it feels like love.

The Realization of Equestrian

Sometimes things don’t go the way we planned.

Over the weekend, I went with my school to a Pony Club mega rally for the first show of 2018. I was so excited. I’ve been riding my horse, Time, for weeks in preparation, and every single time I jumped he had been a saint.

This weekend was different. It shattered any self confidence I had in my riding skills when Time threw me off over a simple cross rail in the warm up arena and bruised my back so much that it currently hurts to breathe as I’m sitting here trying to do my homework after waking up at four am every morning this weekend to get to the show grounds.

I had fallen off just the day before when my horse stopped right in front of a jump. Now, I have to admit that it was my fault that I was in two-point way too early, but that’s besides the point. Not a single scratch was on me, and I shook off the dirt from my helmet, got back on, and finished the course I was set out to do.

Photo Credit: Jerry Mohme Photography

However, that was not the case on Saturday. When I hit the ground, I was certain that if I moved even just an inch my body would shatter into pieces and I’d be sent to the hospital in an ambulance. I couldn’t get up for minutes, until I was rolled onto my back, then I stood up, and I slowly walked foot by foot back to my stall without even getting to do that course.

I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to ride the next day either, and that weeks of training would’ve gone to waste. But the next day I ended up getting back on my horse and started jumping, and though my entire body was shaking every time I thought my horse would refuse a jump, we ended up clearing both courses.

But I guess there’s both pain and pleasure in horseback riding. There’s the sense of accomplishment when you jump a new height or when your horse comes to say hi to you and nuzzles his nose into the palm of your hand when he thinks you have treats. But there’s also the hours of pain whenever you fall off or when a horse steps on your foot. There’s the moments of self-degradation whenever you see a person with better position or better clothes, and the constant thoughts that plague your mind thinking that you’ll never be as good as them.

I’m not going to lie and say that my confidence in my jumping is back, because it’s not, and I don’t think it will be anytime soon (or, at least, until all the bruises go away), but it was a learning experience to some extent.

I’m going to fall off, and probably more times than I wish, and I’ll get back up, and fall and get back up, and that’ll keep happening, but I’ll still continue riding until I no longer can.