IN TOO DEEP
A fortune that fell out of one of my bags
On rare occasions when I’m tired of routine, I'll mess up my room. I'll take the drawers out of my dresser. I'll pour them out on my bed in hopes to be reminded of things I wasn’t aware that I’ve missed. A few letters that I’ve received will fall out, and I’ll reread them as I lay on the ground. I’ll be reminded of emotions that I’m sure the writers no longer feel, but assumptions go without confirmation, so I’m never really sure, only sure of my feelings and how they've changed. Bagel will come up to me and I’ll pet him. Then I'll begin to think about how he will be 4 in September which means that if I can expect him to live until his life expectancy, then he has already lived a third of his life. So I’ll give him a treat, because life’s too short. Life moves rapidly, and it’s unfair how quick it moves.
Though life may seem unfair, we don’t deserve to be unfair to ourselves, therefore we must seek out things that make us feel alive. Sometimes the things that make us feel alive may be in other people, not just in other people, but in our honesty within them. Then I'll think about myself and how I shouldn’t second guess my emotions for people I feel for, and I'll contemplate texting them, but they know how I feel, plus I don’t want to seem like a lost cause, so instead I'll treat myself to an 85 dollar shirt, because once again, life is too short. If I’m hungry I’ll eat, if not, I’ll just stare at the ceiling hypothesizing about a moment in the future where I’ll wish I was in the moment that I am living in right now. (Will I always be like this?) I’ll reflect on recent realizations that I’ve had, such as tonight at dinner when my friends and I were talking about love and relationships and how I’ve realized that I’ve been spending entirely too much time alone lately. Hearing about the ideal possibilities of romance in the near future for my friends has me considering that maybe it’d be nice to have someone to spend time with. Someone to be alone with. Then I'll snap out of it and I'll continue cleaning engulfed in a cloud of nostalgia. I can’t tell if cleaning up is a part of the release that I feel, but it’s typically never an issue. I can’t even say what I’m doing is therapeutic, because to label it therapeutic would mean that it’s helping me to heal or to cope with a loss, but I’m usually never at a loss, much less at a loss for words. I'll stand in the midst of all this mess that I’ve created and I'll think to myself; I’m in too deep, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
-RDL4EVER