Questionably yours,

I want to grasp something concrete, is that so much to ask? I want something I can hold that can hold me back when I need it most. I'm stretching and reaching without knowing my limits or yours, is that too much to ask? What is enough, and beyond that?

I'm sleeping with a blankie I used to sleep with in preschool. I used to sleep with you.

And I'm not just talking about love. It's life. It's just that. It's moving on when it's time or when you're not ready. I don't know what else there is to do because I don't trust myself with you. Nor with rhyme. There is just too much and too little.

I'm wondering if a part of me is lost. I feel like a different person. Sometimes, it's as if I'm a spectator of my own life. I see the choices I'm making, but do nothing to stop myself. I'm laughing and seeing myself laughing simultaneously. I'm not going to school. Maybe I'm wrong? Or right? Right. Everyone's leaving. So should I? How can I smile it all off, wave goodbye? How can I question? I'm smiling, after all. Shouldn't that be enough? Enough is enough. But I'm crying sometimes, too. And just lying awake at other times. What about then? What does it all mean to me, and the rest of the world?

That's not a good note on which to end. How questionable the world is! (Even without my typed question mark!) And the future! What of that? It's not all flying cars and layered earth, despite what the makers of Dippin' Dots have told you. Real problems and solutions await us. As if we don't have enough already. Enough already!

I want to care about more than just you. For mere seconds, I can escape and replace thoughts of you with those of more wear and worry.


Our pizza experience:
For mere seconds, I can't get it off my fingertips. It's pitiful thoughts I can't shake or forget. I'm trying to, turning the silver handle more and more to the right, but I can't even feel the cold as it continually pounds me, my body. Knowing that I'm standing here, while they're all out there. I can remember. She said they found a place out by the creek. She said you hope that no one will find where you sleep. She said this all as she bit bite after bite into my meaningful gesture. It's a funny thing what I did. I won't pretend handing out pizza slices bound for the bins makes me a good person. If I knew what could do it for me, I would? Well, it's just a funny thing, having to judge complete strangers. How can one, how could I deem who appeared homeless, who was hungry and worthy enough of charity? And we're back to that question, What is enough? Certainly, I'm not doing enough. There is no enough. No matter how much I intend to do or even try or even do, it will never be enough. There will still be strangers out with nowhere to claim as their own, and here I am trying to find meaning in a life that's satisfactory enough without more questions? I wonder if they even have the desire to live. Is that too much, too little to ask? Really though, what keeps them living? The belief in the existence of good in the world? Of God? Of the warm-heartedness of the empathetic, like myself? Oh, please! Like everything else on my agenda, I find myself wanting more out of this kind gesture. I want to know, question, feel more. I want to find meaning. Maybe, in that way, we're all the same. Aren't we all just trying to find ourselves, our pizza?



currently listening to: Beirut's Elephant Gun on repeat because it makes me want to cry and because I would like to cry, to make my feelings sound.