there are days like these: when i feel like crumpling myself into a ball and rolling under my bed. when i want to dive into a cup of hot chocolate and sink to the bottom of the ceramic floor. when i don’t want to talk; i just want to listen. sing me a lullaby and i’ll lie here, perfectly still, my head on your shoulder, my heart on your lap, drifting, drifting, drift–<\/p>\n
things are happening. i’m thinking entirely too much, lately. i’m thinking so much, talking so much, asking so much, listening so much that i don’t know what’s what anymore. i don’t know which are my thoughts or your thoughts or his thoughts or her thoughts. i don’t know if what i believe is what i want to believe or what i’m supposed to believe or what i just do<\/i> believe.<\/p>\n
i used to believe things. they were like little marbles i’d keep in my pocket and i could just slip my hand inside and swirl them around and hear them tap-tap against each other and know, know<\/b> what it all meant. but now.<\/p>\n
this thinking, this feeling, this wondering it’s wearing me out.<\/p>\n
i want to be angry. it looks so much easier to be angry. shout at the top of your lungs, wave your arms in the air, slam a couple doors, break a few things and then storm the hell out of there and be done with it. goodbye, i hate you, goodbye. i want to be angry, but i’m just sad.<\/p>\n
and it’s not just one thing. don’t think it’s just one thing, because it’s not. there’s so much, and this is what scares me. it’s settling, like dust on a shelf. i try to wipe it away, but it floats back into the air only to land in the same spot. things i haven’t thought about in years, things i forgot ever happened, things i want to pretend don’t exist. dealing with these. being adult about it. growing up already. i should, i really should, but.<\/p>\n
not now. not tonight. tonight, i am going to stop talking. i am not going to think. i am not going to wonder. i am not even going to hope. whisper a sweet something in my ear and tell me it will be okay. tell me i’ll be fine, and i will believe you.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
there are days like these: when i feel like crumpling myself into a ball and rolling under my bed. when i want to dive into a cup of hot chocolate and sink to the bottom of the ceramic floor. when i don’t want to talk; i just want to listen. sing me a lullaby and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/maganda.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}