temperature

So if I paint my eyes a periwinkle color, rather than the crushed royal purple of today, would I be beautiful? If I could change these browns to grey? The greens to black? There is something about me, I'm diving into it, I'm going to have to find this out. I want to retrace steps, cross-reference thoughts, plan and plot out the details. I'm going to build a spiderweb and I'm going to label each thread a thought, one that connects to the next and I'm going to find this out. I think I'm making these motions because either, 1 - I need therapy, or 2 - ...well, I mean, I think I've found my therapy. I've realized what I've been missing. Just today, it happened to me. I remembered where my therapy lies. So I really don't even need to get into 2. A bird flew away when I walked outside today. It scared me. Another bird flew as I walked through the parking lot, and it almost made me walk into a car it scared me so bad.

I sit and I breathe in the warm air. I watch the boy as he avoids the awkwardness of the situation by immersing himself in the apps on his phone. I watch as, handsome, the sweat drips from his skin. The hat doesn't do much for him. Not here. I cross my legs. I consider the absolute sadness I feel on my skin. I wonder if sadness is painted on me, how I try to hide my eyes. I wonder if sadness can drown in phone apps. I wonder if boys see sadness painted on girls. I wonder if my sadness could be beautiful, seeing how I'm wearing it for ages. Because if this boy looked up at me and I'm fascinated by the way the sweat is running across his nose and falling to the wood. So if he looked up at me and saw this kind of sadness, would he find me beautiful? Beautiful sad girl. Her ancient sadness, centuries old.

I made conversation with a man in the elevator. I told him I was uneventful because I was going from the underground parking garage to the first floor. He responded by saying he had to go straight up. Which made me laugh, so I had to explain my laughter. I said, 'typical man, going straight to the top.' He blushed, stammered and tried to explain. Damn, girl has some kind of charm.

I just want to distance. I want to create distance and time and space between me and everything I can't escape. I want to be in vehicle, watching it all go by in my rearview. Or I just want to paint it into a pretty picture on my skin and paint my eyes shades of purple and blue and exchange artist for grey. Just one more beat, just once more. Granted blessing, granted strength, just beyond reach.

I'll start with the colors and string them into my web and paint through the darkness. I'll maybe start that tomorrow.