Eighteen is settling down, somehow. Somehow I can settle down and be calm, and maybe that means I’m a little bit sad and a little bit out of touch sometimes. I think I might have settled too deep. But eighteen is learning to be comfortable in my world, not yours. Eighteen is a withdrawal from expectations, a falling out of the line and walking the other direction. I’m a little bit unplugged, but nineteen found me anyway. And she’s ready to drag me back to what I left unsolved. This isn’t the time to sneak out quietly and walk away. This is the time to yank free, to pull and hold your hand and run run run to where I can love you forever, really forever. Nineteen, please don’t let me bystand another year of my life as a shadow.
The way you pronounced my name with a pouty “-d-” instead of a “-th-” when I said I wasn’t coming with… and when you whistled like a bird and my instinct finally remembered that it was my turn to whistle back; it’s like you’re the only one I hear… and your smile and your pouty face make me want you, make me want to live forever in this childhood.
I’m a fire that’s all coal and no flame, just smoldering away as quietly as possible. They’re walking all over me, scattering my safety net of twigs so I’ll shrink down into an isolated corner, where the only remnant of my presence is a flicker of glowing red. If they’re not looking, I don’t think anyone would even notice. I’m a little bit needy, a little bit desperate. I feel a little bit more dead than I do alive. I’m not the kind of fire that can accomplish anything, the kind of glowing ball of warmth and light that people want to be around. At least I’m not dangerous, I suppose. I have the potential to be something better, but I’m too afraid of extinguishing myself to move from this spot, this warm corner, her warm arms. I think she’s the only one who still believes that I’m alive.