day 197

"In love, the one who runs away is the winner." Henri Matisse

manic pixie girl/5
One time I ran by the river alone with my eyes closed. It was early winter and the tree trunks were starting to slump with frozen roots. The wind howled. I forgot to wear a hat. I still ran. I remember the wind seeping into my lungs and numbing my insides. It is a feeling I've yet to forget. I compare it to every time I've had my heart broken. Or every time I wake up not loving what I do. The mornings I hate where I am and the nights I run scenarios through my mind with my eyes closed. I like to think of my past lovers as ghosts. They all haunt me. I am reminded of anyone through limp limbs and half smiles. They all call me beautiful or exciting and I hate that. So I run. I've grown to hate being such an object. You can hold me in the palm of your hands and kiss the side of my face with a choir of singing angels. I've always been fascinated with Sirens. There must be a reason behind it.

day 196

manic pixie girl/4

When your boss finds out that you're a part time heartbreaker, you laugh. You spend an hour trying to convince him that you have no idea what he's talking about. That the ache in your chest and the sickness in your stomach is just your body's way of getting rid of the evidence. I've learned how to play the game and I've been playing it well. My excuse is that it happened to me. It will happen to everyone eventually. Some days I think I am just here to show people there is danger lurking to hurt your insides. Those days when you feel so high and wake up the next day as a stranger. I come quickly and leave quietly.

day 195

"Crying to crawl"

I fear that I'm getting nowhere. On the days I am able to lay in bed in my underwear and listen to silence, I stare at the ceiling as my silhouette watches me wander. Wondering if the other part of me is judging me. Watching and waiting for me to move over, start over, get up and make it. It is becoming so difficult to wholeheartedly believe in myself. I convince myself that I do. It is still one of those days today.

day 194

It still feels like late Autumn and early Winter every time I see you. There is no other way to describe how cold we've grown. I haven't learned yet to forget about you. Or forgive you. Or even bother talking to you about how numb you've made me. It is a bone chilling regret whenever your arms wrap around me. Or even when you lay your eyes on me. I hate having to pretend everything is okay. It never was, it hasn't gotten any better, and I don't know how to change that. I always find ways to erase you and try to forget about you, but  you find your way back in. It makes me question if I really want you gone. I just know that we never loved because you didn't want to. I've learned to be stronger than to let someone love me halfheartedly. But sometimes I don't know why you have this kind of spell on me. I still fear speaking to you. It still hurts.

day 193

You are not God.

day 192

Today in English Comp, we talked about how 60% of the surveyed 138 female Yale undergrads intended to stop working completely after having children.

My professor asked me why I thought this was an insane concept. Growing up with a full time working single mother has so much to do with the way I carry myself. I've surrounded myself with empowering working women and artists my whole entire life and it's definitely instilled a certain drive in me. I definitely will be a working woman for the rest of my life. I mean, someone has to change the world.

day 191

I was so convinced that I've been an introvert for the majority of my teenage life, but really, I've just been with the wrong people. When holding hands with good friends, my heart is at home. It stretches and places arms on shoulders like father daughter dances. In a good friend's eyes, I see growth and what I can become. I have spent so much time trying to fit in with people I don't even like. I don't know why part of me used to feel like it was so important. Maybe I'm finally growing up. Maybe I am trying to replace bad with good and old with home.