You'd think all those cups of hot honey and lemon tea would have done the job, but nothing melted except my motivation to do something extraordinary.
I wanted the sunshine to caress my tired bones, the grass to seep through my pointed feet. But even if they did, I didn't feel it because I fell asleep. I always fell asleep.
My dreams were much too scary to have felt rested. And some days I'd peel my tired eyes open and look at the clock: would ya look at that, I just wasted another thirty minutes.
The light of day burned for hours on end; now, it's five o'clock pm and the light's already saying goodbye to me.
Sometimes, I couldn't see the stars at night. The moon even hid it's face for a few days. Was it ashamed? Of what? I was ashamed of myself. Maybe it was ashamed of the same thing.
"Christmas is just around the corner!" I hear in my head. What happened to the Fourth of July? I never even held a sparkler in my hand.
I often found myself gasping for breath in the lake of parabolas, boredom, loneliness, exasperation, sugar, Dance Academy, coffee that I never drank but could smell from miles away, Instagram, procrastination, miscommunication, falling short of expectations, and
falling asleep.
Now I'm drowning in the lake but it's freezing over. Because have you felt the temperature dropping?
It's November now and I'm afraid it's too cold for the snow in my soul to melt.
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