I'm constantly trying to find you. At least in myself. Where are you, truth? What are you? What are you trying to lead me toward?
It is hard to connect to you sometimes. Hard to find you in the depths of my belly and heart. You are often in hiding behind the should and the could and the what-others-want. But I see you peeking out. I see you.
You like prosecco and rosé and red wine and the feeling of feeling tipsy. You worry sometimes that you have addictive tendencies and that the buzz I get from drinking is too enjoyable but perhaps that is just another worry you latch onto.
You worry but you don't like the feeling of it, of worry and anxiety. You daydream about being carefree and laughing more and being happier.
You are afraid you'll never be happy.
You are convinced you'll never get married. You are convinced no one could ever want to be with you longer than 2 years. You are worried that there is some truth about you that only those who have to deal with you see. You know that that is ridiculous but no matter of sensible talk convinces you otherwise.
You find a lot of people annoying and often let the phone ring or the text go unanswered. You like dressing up and being stylish and you like the attention because you don't think of yourself as beautiful and need the positive reinforcement. You kinda wish you could just be a blogger. You want to win amazing theater awards but you don't think my plays are good enough.
Your daydreams are violent and angry and you are filled with rage.
You don't like living alone and yet I am afraid of letting anyone in enough to imagine living with them. You are afraid you are a terrible friend. You want a more glamorous life. You want to be able to say "fuck you" to a wide variety of people and things but you and I don't have the balls.
You are embarrassed a lot more than you let on. You know yourself to be super sensitive. You often think about what I'd have to do to free myself of a lot of these beliefs, life situations.
You are worried I have a heart defect but have no proof of it and yet are fairly convinced you are having a heart attack at least once a month (but you also know you have this so it makes a bit of sense).
You daydream of escaping.
You feel comfortable by the water and want to have sex on the beach but think I am too chickenshit to do such a thing.
You want someone to push you up against a wall and kiss you like their life depends on it. You are sad no one has kissed you like that.
You want to be Beyoncé in the yellow dress and the baseball bat.
As Nina says, you want that feeling of no fear. You want to feel free.
I see you, truth. I see you.
(this is day twenty-four of april love)