I wanted to write that I’m actually very very afraid of the decisions that I make and the deliberate mistakes that I commit. But I’m also afraid of a future where I look back and think to myself, you could have done more. So I’m not sure if I’m crippled by the future, or if I’m shackled to the present. I’m young and I’m free but I’m also not sure of these choices.
Then I felt your hand on my head stroking my hair and I thought of the different hands that have done that, that have permission to do that without me flinching or swatting hands off. Is it because my thoughts are so loud that you can hear them and you want to pat them back into my head gently, or did you see the furrows of my brows that dig so deep that you want to tell me that it’s okay? I reach up to hook my hands on your neck and burrow closer so that maybe you can hear everything one day and help me to understand the noise that echoes and bounces everywhere.
I can’t look that far into the future, nor can I understand the gears of fate and coincidences, but I try so, so, so damn hard to rest in the peace knowing that all kinks will iron themselves out. But isn’t that youth and irresponsibility that’s thinly veiled?