wander with me

23

23

It’s been hard to leave my bed lately, but when I do and I run into humans and they ask me, “how’s it going?” I say “good.”

But what I want to say is that I wish I was 23.

I wish I was the walking the awkward line of adulting to the point that actual adults laugh and you laugh with them and youth admire you, going out with my girlfriends and dancing until my heart fills up with laughter and beats from talking to cute boys that I’ll never see again (and being okay with it) kind of 23. The kind of 23 that skinny dips in broad daylight because I still have my young heart and I love my body and I feel so goddamn in love with life.

But this 23 is different, I want to say. It’s the kind that makes you feel like you’ve lived the same year over and over again, the kind that walks the awkward line of almost adulting but always falls short, the kind that avoids going out dancing with my girlfriends because if I meet a cute boy I’ll feel them leaving before they even get to know me, before I get to know them, before I have the time to remind myself that she isn’t everyone. Not everyone leaves.

It’s the kind that goes skinny dipping during the day and feels so goddamn light and in love, until you are reminded that there’s a tide and it pulls you in, and all of a sudden you can’t breathe and you wonder if you ever knew how. The kind that leaves you fearing the water, the one thing that truly made you feel free.

I wish I was a different 23, I want to say. But if I do I’ll remember why I’ve been staying in bed and I want to be better so I try to be. So I say, “good.”

And then my mind goes here. To this day, to this place, to this hike, to this moment, because places are safer than people right now.

And I didn’t fear the water.



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