I’ve been in a deep reflection about my entire life currently. Everything feels trivial and nothing feels consequential. I’m stuck at a crossroads of grief and acceptance constantly.

I’ve been writing letters to people in my life, those who I could simply speak to if I wanted. It seems I have been having a hard time grappling why some things have happened to me.

Mom, why did you choose to have me?

noun: genesis; plural noun: genesises

1. the origin or mode of formation of something.

Mom, are you glad that I’m here?

At the ripe age of 4 I stood crying on my staircase

Let me back in

I remember sobbing

Let me start over

I’ll do it right this time.

Something was taken from me before I could understand the very concept of what was lost. Was it my innocence? Well, no, I was never particularly naive. Was it my simplicity? No, that doesn’t quite resonate either. Something bored itself into my body. Leaving an oddly shaped hole that changes shape and size constantly without reason. It moves from my feet to my legs, leaving me immobilized. It scrambles up to my chest and I feel out of breath. It’s up to my ears now and it’s leaving me blind.

And it lets you develop bad habits

It makes you take deep breaths before you leave your house and

It hurts your eyes when you look out your kitchen window and

It stings your fingertips when you reach out for something to touch you back

We were destined to be the genesis of our genealogy.
We were contracted under the laws of consummation,
but we couldn’t quite conquer our inhibitions.

Despite everything I wouldn’t change the person I’ve become.

It’s hard to get back on proper footing when you feel as if nothing matters anymore. Every one moves too fast and the bills keep changing colors. I don’t truly mean that sentiment. I just lack motivation and need some incentive to keep moving forward in my life. Everything I create feels as if it lacks substance. There are things I will never truly get over, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of letting go.

Oh! But the memories! The very concept of leaving it all behind scares me so badly.

I don’t want to forget. Regardless of what it has put me through. That’s the very detriment of my jaded personality.

I have to make space. I have to let the window crack open. Let the air wash away the dust that has settled into every crack. The door comes off its hinges and lets some morning light spill in.

Its spring. It’s spring and you’re young and you have to come back into this world.

So now its just light green moss and pink birds chirping on a telephone wire. It’s tulle skirts, rice cakes, and rainbows after a pacific shower. It’s oxford commas and peeling fruits with someone you love. Sit on the river bank, let the water wash over our feet. Let’s sleep on our backs and gaze up at the popcorn ceiling.

I’m counting on you March.