"Life is supposed to be fun, remember?"
I remember. I just keep forgetting what that means. And maybe I'm just bad at it now. I never used to be. I used to be the type of person who was bad at knowing when to stop having fun. I was the type of person who mistook Ms. Bradshaw's glare and jiggle of death as a cue to tie start dancing with the octopus on top of my head. I was the type of person who played in a walk-in closet for hours while pretending it was a tent in the Amazon with 5 year olds until she was 14. I was the type of person who lived for being a child. Who lived for fun. Who lived for smiles. For laughs.
REMEMBER. kkkdsaghldghaieghiiwoeygheowythesglkdlhsadg ihsdgksdhg klshgkjsd gklhdsglkhsdg dhjslghas kdlghas kdhgiewyag tituewighsjdlghdlsakghs adgkhdsag klsdhg ksdahgdksl sdaklg skdalahlht ipweayg eskghsagjsghdlk sdjskgjk ladsh gkldsbnnnnneghi ph'ewagiodsa ovpb'epiwagh'ips dh'ipe hiaseghipewg hbeiwagheiwaghhbeiaoggg ggh'ia ghsioagh'isa'ghsdip 'pdsahgoisa'dhg lahgkla;hsgo kiahbdgkslhagioekwlh ikawhgwelkghwa. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. ??????
And it's all confusion now. All of it is confusion. And sadness. And this odd feeling of numbness that is welcome. Because it's easier this way. And I can smile again.
What does it mean to live? What is it that makes me cry when listening to the violin intro to this song? What is it that makes me laugh when I saw the squirrel in the park today? What is it that makes me rest my head on the window and ride the bus for over half an hour? What is it? What is it? Is this life? Is it life that draws me to these things, acting out my destiny in small, unnoticed gestures?
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO LIVE? Show me. Save me. Leave me alone.
I remember. I just keep forgetting what that means. And maybe I'm just bad at it now. I never used to be. I used to be the type of person who was bad at knowing when to stop having fun. I was the type of person who mistook Ms. Bradshaw's glare and jiggle of death as a cue to tie start dancing with the octopus on top of my head. I was the type of person who played in a walk-in closet for hours while pretending it was a tent in the Amazon with 5 year olds until she was 14. I was the type of person who lived for being a child. Who lived for fun. Who lived for smiles. For laughs.
REMEMBER. kkkdsaghldghaieghiiwoeygheowythesglkdlhsadg ihsdgksdhg klshgkjsd gklhdsglkhsdg dhjslghas kdlghas kdhgiewyag tituewighsjdlghdlsakghs adgkhdsag klsdhg ksdahgdksl sdaklg skdalahlht ipweayg eskghsagjsghdlk sdjskgjk ladsh gkldsbnnnnneghi ph'ewagiodsa ovpb'epiwagh'ips dh'ipe hiaseghipewg hbeiwagheiwaghhbeiaoggg ggh'ia ghsioagh'isa'ghsdip 'pdsahgoisa'dhg lahgkla;hsgo kiahbdgkslhagioekwlh ikawhgwelkghwa. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. ??????
And it's all confusion now. All of it is confusion. And sadness. And this odd feeling of numbness that is welcome. Because it's easier this way. And I can smile again.
What does it mean to live? What is it that makes me cry when listening to the violin intro to this song? What is it that makes me laugh when I saw the squirrel in the park today? What is it that makes me rest my head on the window and ride the bus for over half an hour? What is it? What is it? Is this life? Is it life that draws me to these things, acting out my destiny in small, unnoticed gestures?
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO LIVE? Show me. Save me. Leave me alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment