biblical revelations at ages 8, now 18

all my birthdays were sad. sometimes because i wouldn't be getting what i wanted. sometimes because i wouldn't get to keep the people i wanted.

mostly because i no longer had the me that was excited for it in the first place.

i remember being excited to turn 18. like, really excited. 

and then the clock struck 12, 

it just turned out to be another day.

the ordinariness of it broke my heart.

because i had not let anybody's birthday be ordinary ever.

nobody's birthday but mine.

i'm not surprised. nobody has ever been as cruel to me as i have been to myself.

that is one thing that won't be happening in a while.

(with this statement comes the understanding that i let go of my grief and misery in exchange for a life i deserve. with this comes letting go of my writing. the sort that comes with the grief.

i don't want to live in a hole anymore. 

and there's a price for everything.)

**

this birthday,

i forgive all the mean kids who didn't have nice parents to teach them how to be nice. and the mean adults. i forgive all those that are horrible because they are afraid. i forgive all those that had to hurt me to feel alive. i forgive all those that refuse to see the bad in them, because i know they also refuse to see the good. i forgive all those who asked me to be an adult when i was very little, and those who asked me to be a child when i was no longer one. i forgive the cruelty.

why?

well, for one- 

cruelty can be so lonely. cruel people are more than often, very cruel to themselves. 

and because

forgiving means letting go.

means accepting that i no longer take this with me on the rest of the ride.

no backpacks this time.

**

if i get married someday, i'd like to play dolls with them. i never had someone to play with.

**

i will get where i want to be. even if it takes time. only i can. 

i've left a trail behind, that i am not proud of.

but i hold no shame.

i was always beautiful. i was always kind. 

it is now that i am learning to be grateful for myself.

these dogs hold no meaning in my story.

**

when you come from where i do, it takes time to understand that love is not carnivorous. it could never be. 

a lot of what i've read about love sounds like that. tearing someone apart. opening their cadaver, almost.

sometimes you don't even realize when love sounds like murder. 

all these crimes committed in the name of love.

so much like religion.

love is safety. i stand by that. i've seen very little of it. but i've seen it. and i know it exists.

not in my hometown, perhaps.

there are too many starved people here.

at 8 i needed love. the kind of love people get bored of. at 18, i realize i am full of it.

i laugh when i remember i won't remember a single name. not a single one.

who are these people ?

**

the other day i went to the park. a kiddy park. 

i walked until i found an empty swing. i kept my book-bag on the floor of grass. and i sat, with the swing beside me empty.

first came a boy. disinterested. distracted. disheveled. he looked over at the gorilla slide all the other boys were hoping for.

then came another boy, with a similar short lived attention span.

finally came a girl dressed in pink. big eyes, this one. she didn't notice me, or seemed too shy to acknowledge me. 

her grandmother pushed her for the first few swings.

this girl looked around as she swung. left. right. observant. quiet.

i swung beside her. rocking my feet up when going up. back when i go back. 

after a while, she did the same. up when going up. back when i go back.

i smiled when i realized.

and then we oscillated at the same time. up and then down. for a while.

at different times. her far up. me far behind. me far up. her far behind.

silent swinging.

when i got off the ride, i waved at her. she waved back with a grin from ear to ear. 

her grandmother sat on my swing. 

i stood afar and watched the girl in pink swing for a minute.

and there it was again, that funny feeling.

**

                                                        Affection - Hugues Merle (1868)