Closer To Fine

Two years ago, life was hard.

While I hid out in my bedroom with books, 
but no laptop, no Netflix, no iPhone, nothing but me,
I blamed homework for my lack of social interaction.
My roommates stopped asking me to go out with them,
and I sunk deeper into myself. I thought I was content.
In an English paper, I wrote that I knew how to be alone
without being lonely, and that might have been true. But
it would be more accurate to say that I learned to be
alone without admitting I was lonely.

Where the guy across town didn't work out,
I crushed on the guy across the hall.
That lasted about three days, because then
my roommate made out with him in his bedroom,
and he sang her to sleep at night with his guitar.
I listened outside the door once, and pretended
that someone would care about me like that. And
it was nice to pretend for a little while, but he was
her rebound and they broke up three weeks later.

When classes ended, I would have lost my scholarship
but for a few anxious emails. I spent hours agonizing
over my future and when it was salvaged, I held on
to the value I placed in my own independence.
It didn't take long before I returned to the blissful state
of ignoring the reality of my future, because back then
graduation was distant, and even when it did happen,
I thought I wouldn't miss it when I left. I thought that
this was another thing I couldn't wait to put behind me.


Last year, life was harder.

Though I found ways to escape, so did the girl
across the parking lot. I talked to her for hours,
borrowed her books, and we didn't talk again
until one of us remembered we didn't live that far away.
I lived with the same roommates. I got what I expected,
except I didn't expect it to be so hard. I tried to make up
for the last year, but I was late. I haven't seen them since.

There was a guy I thought I liked. He was clever,
made me laugh when he said 'pneumonia.' I didn't care
about the difference in our age. Maybe he wouldn't have
either, if he'd given me a chance. I couldn't blame him
when he didn't. I'd gotten used to disappointment.
And I held back, because I didn't trust my own judgment
any longer and I couldn't trust them if I couldn't trust me.

Then I let go of my childhood faith. It was hard,
but not as hard as I thought it would be. The worst part
was telling my parents. They didn't understand the way
I hoped they would. But I thought it would be okay
because I thought I was doing what I thought was right.
Even though I wasn't really sure what 'right' meant,
or whether truth existed, I thought I could find it out.


Life is still hard.

Now the words etched in my heart echo the red ink
on my hands as it fades into cracked, bleeding skin,
the colors indistinguishable from each other. Still
I work myself to sleep, laugh myself to tears, and
refuse to make my life a production of trial and error.

Near the end of what I thought would last forever,
nothing is scarier than an end. And I'm getting through it.
When people ask me how I function, I say I don't know,
but I just don't want to explain that the people in my life
are how I stay alive. That words don't do them justice.

Never thought it would turn out like this, but I wouldn't
have it any other way. Waking up forty-five minutes early
to sit and talk before class. Staying up an hour late just
for that long-awaited phone call. Calling in to work so you
can spend a day together. These things are everything.

And I made time for the people I care about,
and I learned to be more okay with not knowing,
and I realized how much I have to live for,
and that makes every difference.

I didn't think I could be this close to fine, but I am.


I am.