polaroid

i am faded paper, and greyscale eyes. waking up with a headache, and not knowing why.

and i am begging you to pick up the phone. but you never did care. so you won’t. and you’ll leave me, stranded in a run-down alley, all on my own.

so i’ll bury it; beneath check-marks and to-do lists; a constant, thrumming debate. but despite my glimmering hope, none of those things ever really did take off the weight. just made me scared, and selfish. and desperate for escape.

but here i am; staring into the mirror, at a face i know all too well. and don’t you remember being ten, writing for hours on a shitty computer; laughing like alice as you fell?

or that night, in eighth grade, your first time using a microphone. but despite the hummingbird pulse of your heart… something about it felt like home.

and in that small moment. despite my sagging eyes and weary bones, as the midday light hits my broken skin, i feel… whole.


For the first time in a while, I really feel… I don’t know, like writing can be something I actually do for myself—and not just for, I don’t know, capitalism? A bunch of strangers on the internet? The voices in my head?

I just… I feel like something new. Something alive. A new leaf, I guess, pushing up from the ground. (Is that a really cheesy, overused metaphor? Probably. In my defense, I have a job gardening and I just got off, so my brain is a little bit fried—if I see one more invasive vine, I think I’m going to explode.)

Suddenly, I remember exactly why I fell in love with writing. And even if no one else is ever going to care about it, even if it won’t get me rich, it doesn’t matter. Because as cheesy as it sounds, I know that this is what I am meant to be doing. And I can’t help but feel like… like everything I had to go through to get here was worth it. That it happened for a reason. And whether or not that’s actually true, sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me through the hard days. The days when everything feels heavy, and impossible, and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and give up.

For the first time in my life, I look in the mirror and like who I’m becoming. I like her twirly dresses, and her tousled brown hair. I like her round, soft cheeks, and her tan lines, and her freckles. I look in the mirror, and I see someone who is strong, and alive, and maybe just a little bit of a badass.

And I think that’s pretty fucking cool.

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings

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