i kept crawling on the edges and hiding in the curtains for so long, and i keep laughing. it’s impossible to classify how many different kinds of laughter there are, but sometimes you mean and sometimes you laugh and you don’t mean and then there’s the ones you feel and the one’s you don’t. on my birthdays i laugh as hard as one should laugh on that day as that is such a monstrous joke. decades worth of yelling and screaming, growing and running, feeling and tears. here i am once again lying on my stomach on my red (egyptian) cotton bed sheets, and laughing like i was happy. like i was a while ago and now what seems like another life.
this may be the low or it may be the calm before (or was it after ?) the storm. the storm of happiness. the storm of growth. the storm of love. i found you and you made me whole, and you fixed the cracks in my heart, and stimulated my brain into happiness. very few made me wonder how on earth i’d ever felt that empty, that scared, that completely alone. there was more joy and feeling behind my laughter than i’d ever known possible. i felt fixed and i felt healed and i felt whole. instead of wondering what i was missing, i wondered how i had gotten so lucky. things i wanted to happen started happening, and the concept was so foreign that i felt like it wasn’t possible. floating in a sea of blue eyes, smiles, and glances, of shared ideas and shared moments, and way more than one too many coincidences.
i never believed in fate before, and i shouldn’t have wanted to after i met you. this is love, but some people call it fooling yourself, and it was introduced to me by you. i shook its hand, but nothing further. you touched my hand, but nothing more. i let you touch my heart, but that’s on me, not you. apparently all those fireworks i saw were for my eyes only, or you were just hiding your eyes. call it destiny, fate, old-fashioned coincidence, or look up a study pertaining to why human beings make something out of nothing. and i thought there is hope, but i know it’s one-sided.
the funny thing about healing is that it comes from within our own, singular minds. we may think we need other people to save us, but i know now that’s all just smoke and mirrors. we believe what we feel to be true. but truth has no interest in making us feel whole. truth takes us and breaks us, fragments our hearts, destructs the careful realities we have constructed in our minds to make us happy. my thoughts can save me but my thoughts can kill me as well. truth and belief are no friend of each other when we are talking about peace of mind. believe what i can while i can, because here i am again, lying in bed and i haven’t been happy in months.
we don’t need other people to make us feel whole, but we believe that we need other people to make us feel whole. and that’s because i am still human