There comes a time in every girl’s life where they should finally come to terms with the fact that they’re never going to be good enough. Well, they’ll be good enough for someone, but not for everyone and that’s the part that sucks because ever since infancy, girls are taught to be enough for people. To make themselves enough.
How is she? Do you love her like I love her? Is she everything I told you she would be and so much more, now that I’m gone? Do you think she misses me as much as I miss her? Oh, I know she doesn’t. Don’t even ask. Are you treating her right? You better be treating her right.
When you’re brown like me, the world looks at you differently. My shade of brown is light, almost pure enough to respect. I am just a hint of spice, just a little bit of flavor for the people who can’t handle some sort of burn, some sort of feeling besides numb.
The daydreams that run through my head make my brain feel like it’s bleeding, like the life is flowing out of me drop by drop. The tear in my seam is slowly ripping itself open, wider and wider and there doesn’t seem to be any way to stop it. Dreaming of the future is bleeding me dry.
There’s no more room for heartbreak in this life, in my life. It may not be all the way true, but it feels that way. It feels like my soul is numb to people coming and going because so many people have come and gone. Like passengers on a train you can’t afford a ticket to, all you have to give is a subtle wave before you turn your back. Goodbye sweet human, you never knew me well.
Most days I wish I weren't reasonably smart or insatiably curious or so willing to learn everything there is to learn. All those things make me absorb information every day of my life in a world where information is right at my literal fingertips. Most days, if not all days, I wish I were oblivious to the plight of our nation and the struggles of the world, but that privilege doesn't belong to me.
It was one of those national holidays, the kind where none of us had to work. We were all home at the same time doing different things with our lives in different rooms of the house. It was hot outside, but my dad was building a shed to put all his toys in. He always has to work on his day off, the same curse I carry in the long legacy of our family.
What makes me so arrogant to think that this life that I'm living isn't worthy of being wanted? Who am I to believe that a 9-to-5 job and a steady paycheck are beneath me? Why do I get to cheat the system and why do I get to wander around the world while the rest of everyone living has to have a job to survive? Why do I get to be reckless? Why do I get to throw my life to danger whenever I want, when everyone else plays it safe?
There was a summer, way back in the what seems like yesterday where all that brought me joy was a rag tag group of boys that held me close to their hearts. It was a summer of walking because only one of us had a car and the rest had no responsibilities. A summer of needing fresh Los Angeles, smog-filled air instead of being trapped in cramped rooms where our souls went to die. It was a summer of being young and stupid and full of life. There’s nothing like the feeling of remembering those summers.
Honest to God, with my whole heart, I thought I loved you. For my whole life, this is what my soul believed, that you were going to be everything to me always. Nothing and no one could replace you in this lifetime of mine, in this world. You and I were perfect together and I thought that would last forever… but now it all seems like a lie.