It’s one of those days where the sky can’t help itself, its face wide and blank, leaking rain from its eyes. I didn’t mean to cry, I imagine it says. I don’t want to cry, but it’s a struggle to hold it all in and even the sky falls apart, from time to time. Don’t be mad at me.
Don’t be mad at me.
I wanted a haitus. I wanted to rid writing from my body like a detox. I wanted to prove something, something small and insignificant, to someone who doesn’t notice these things anymore. I wanted to quit because quitting feels good. Quitting feels like slipping into a worn pair of jeans that fit just right; like an old friend you catch up with now and again but don’t plan to see regularly; like the kind of sex that you know is the last sex but you haven’t said it out loud, yet.
Quitting feels like my default setting. If I had settings, if I were a robot.
But, look, the emails and the comments and the concerned looks. They worked. I’ve been spending my week siphoning all the kindness off my screen, bottling it for hard times. And, so, here i am.
Quitting, the quitting.
Thank you. I love you guys.
Seabear – I’ll Build You A Fire