SINspirationFebruary 2, 2012
It’s early February and I guess everyone is pretty happy. I never really was happy in the winter and I’m especially unhappy now. I get up early some mornings and buy expensive coffees and explore new places that don’t hold any memories at all, and in the brief nostalgic naivety new environments bring I almost think I remember “happy” for a few minutes, whatever that means. Then I’d recognize a street sign and remember that time you told me we couldn’t be friends anymore, because you liked me too much and it scared you, or that other time I lost $10 and got so drunk off of fireball whiskey that I threw up for 2 days straight, writhing on a wooden floor in the most expensive dress I owned until the sun woke me up, disappointed yet comforting, with a warmer touch than I was used to.
Strangely, I’m the least happy around people that actually remind me of what happy feels like, and I suppose that’s more backwards than anything else. I’m too nervous to fully enjoy moments, because I know that in a months’ time I will simply be someone you used to know and it might not even be my fault. You’re all sinking ships and I guess I just really like the ocean. At least at 22 I no longer try to understand why things or people happen into and out of my life the way they do; a lot of things just are and I guess that’s the best way to leave them. In any case, I always wondered why I wasn’t that girl for anyone despite how little I cared for labels or constant attention. My best friend told me it was because I’m the kind of girl men dream about; the kind of girl that comes around once in a lifetime, but men are too scared to find me so early and they run. I never thought much of that, but it always made me smile when she’d say it. She never really lets me down and it makes me appreciate our friendship and wish that other people weren’t always letting me down, but the black cloud makes for some nice narratives and an extravagant wine collection.
I’ve fallen into absolute lust with my sadness. It’s the only emotion truly mine yet mysteriously uncontrollable. I look back at my sorrow wistfully when it becomes a weight I temporarily cannot bear, but in that sorrow my favorite songs tend weigh a little more and words fall heavier from my lips, more often than not stained red from the wine.
