Confessions of a 5'1"

Its been months now since we've started talking. We got along easily since the beginning, I'm not sure how it happened. I don't even remember meeting you at all. It's strange, but I'm not alarmed.

I usually worry about one thing or another constantly, even in my sleep. But since you've been here I finally feel peace and I realize everything is okay. I wonder where you came from. You're living on your own and though you don't say it, I know you're lonely.

You've told me that you're not used to being dependent, that you're usually the one who worries about others. Sometimes, you've got to let me do the worrying for you. It's what friends do, right? We'll take it on hand in hand.

And you're a Guardian Angel, I'm sure. You're a natural comforter and the one people confine their thoughts to. Whenever I'm upset, you're somehow present and ready to pick me up again. But are you really my angel?

Whenever I went to late night parties, somehow I would end up sitting somewhere along a wall or by myself on the couch with an unopened can of sprite in my hand. There would be the smell of weed in the air and the sound of heavy liquor going down down down. I could hear the sex in their words when they spoke, I could feel the intentions behind their eyes, the drugs in their bags. I'd catch sight of you dancing without a thought of the world, the music in your veins, and smile.

You enjoyed taking my hand and dragging me to these places. I would follow without a word or complaint, so humor me. You always did. These nights never really ended well, but how can we really expect them to? I'd turn away from your slim figure and watch the predators prowl. If I blinked, they would be gone. Sometimes you'd take me into a bedroom and we would sit on the floor together, our backs against the bed. Whenever we left the room, your "friends" would give you a high five.

Early morning when it was still dark, we'd be walking, your arm heavy around my shoulders. Ever since I met you, you've been good at holding your alcohol. I think you held mine too, just because you were that great of a friend. Our steps would slow as we got to the end of the street and routinely we would turn and face each other.

"Never... have I felt so alive," You'd tell me breathlessly in my ear as you pull me into a tight hug.

I'd think of the 'you' I once knew.

"You don't even know alive anymore," I'd say and give you a kiss on the cheek goodnight.

It's dark and this is the third day I can't sleep, maybe because I keep dreaming of what's already gone. There's a lot of different kinds of silences, but the kind when even darkness is still is the one I'm afraid of the most. I'm too used to hearing your voice or your breath next to my ear. When it's not there, it tears right through me. We both know I'm not that strong, but I think you forgot. I might be the only one who remembers me.

And once you find me again,
"_____, don't cry" you'll tell me. I'll look at you with tears in my eyes and say, "Yes."

I'll keep trying because that's what I said I would do from the start.
But for tonight, I guess I'll just pretend that I'm not alone.

Dear World,

You've taken 15 people out of my life. You've managed to strip the things I kept close to my heart. You did a really good job of that. You've disordered my emotions and peeled away at my soul. You've kept me sleep deprived and working late. I've nearly given up multiple times.

I heard that "Strength is nothing more than how well you hide the pain."
I resent that.

Strength is how well you are able to turn the pain into your advantage.
Pain doesn't need to be hidden, that only proves how afraid you are of being human.

I'm going to keep waking up in this hell just to spite and irritate you. I might get slower at getting up everyday, but you better damn well know I'll be standing no matter how empty you have made me. All that shit you played on me? Its what keeps pulling me up.

Sincerly,
Me

P.S. Fuck you.

Hmm. I don't need more. I just need you.

I met a man waiting at the airport bus stop a week ago.

He paused before stepping through the doors.
Turning back to me, he had the soft, concerned look of a father who realized his mistakes as he raised his own child and lived with the guilt of reducing his family from 3 to 2 just so he could follow his own dreams.
"I'm not afraid to keep on living.
You shouldn't be either." he told me and boarded the vehicle.

I sat there, thinking those words over. I scrambled them, I rolled them. I tore them apart and put them back together. But what I was looking for was exactly how he gave it to me.

By that time, another man took a seat next to me. I think I probably missed a few of my buses by then. He was dressed well, with a clean face and smoothed hair. There were a few wrinkles near his eyes, but he didn't look that old. His shoes were dead black and coated with a light layer of dirt from travel. He had his coat hung over an arm and was speaking quietly on the phone in his other hand. From the tone and the way his brows furrowed so often I could guess it wasn't going well.

After he closed the call, his hand slumped into his lap defeated and he had the look of power and wealth but gave off the energy of someone crushed. I didn't know what I was thinking, but as he stood up to board I spoke aloud the words the previous man left for me. He paused in his path, the only acknowledgement that he heard me. He didn't turn around or respond but then continued up the steps, but he was seated next to a window and as the bus drove forward I could catch the glimmer of tears on his cheeks.

I think I understand what he meant now.