95 theses — without warning

Who I am and who I’ve been telling myself I am — the immense space between the two; the gaping crevice where lost intentions and warped perspectives have fallen. I look into my own heart and mind to discover I’m not there anymore — worse, I’m not always sure who is. Like a cocktail hour with everyone i’ve crossed paths with. Even the strangers from my dreams. Did you know it’s impossible to see an utter stranger in your dream? The background characters in the filler episodes — it’s impossible to muster them up on our own. The untiring brain of ours registers and remembers faces our eyes glanced upon, even of a second. Imagine what it thinks of someone you’ve loved? Even for a night. It’s an addiction — a complex and powerful urge to uncontrollably repeat a behavior. A strong desire; compulsion, even. And it pays no regard to you. I’m not an addict, I just can’t always control the compulsion. I can delay, but never stop. I’m not an addict, i’m sober. But if I miss a crossed ’t’, or the dot to an ‘I’ I’ll crumble. A sick obsession with routine, but calling myself “go with the flow”. Fixating until I’m sick only to start over, do it again. Perfection, in everything. Numbers, winning, lines, precision. I’m not an addict but I can’t do something — anything, once. Or in a casual fashion. Zero or a million, and I don’t believe in the color gray; which is perplexing considering the world lives in grayscale. Blurred lines and nonchalant expressions. Taking up as little space while I convince myself I have the same needs and desires of someone else to not rock the boat. Questioning what i’ve become while losing sight of who was there first. It feels easy, simpler this way. Until the claws of my unfeigned truth pierce through, severing each and every lie i’ve been fed by myself and every experience I’ve met. I say things don’t alter me. That I’m resilient enough to be constant. Until I see her through the laceration bleeding out of every disappointment, heartbreak, lie, flinch, scare. I’m not chill at all, actually. That obsession, that addiction, that fire and passion locked away like a panther in a shadowbox. Thats the paradox of taming — after the fight comes surrender. After the mania comes fatigue. Giving up and giving in. The panther that’s being released shouldn’t have been tamed. I put her there myself — resilience was a lie I ate up everyday until it made me sick. Another hyper-focus cycle. The problem isn’t me, its the fantasy I’ve been sold. The dramatic soundtrack wrapped in glittering promises. I’ve had enough of romantic love  — its the one addiction that’s failed me repeatedly. The love I lost sight of is what I crave more of. The feeling of stillness I’ve replaced with the chase for the rush, the thrill. To feel something then nothing at all. The color red — where danger lives. A warning without warning. The sunset at 18:32. The mountains and coolness of the air before the sun makes his entrance, ending the performance of the clouds. Songs that hit so hard I get goosebumps. Eyes filled with tears after a hug that lingers or hearing “you were in my dream last night”. Tell me once, I’ll remember it forever. Habitually in love with every second because that’s just who I am. It’s soft because we’re told so. I’m awake before the world and whoever is brave enough to “good morning” hours into my day is who I will think about the rest of the day. Being excited, about everything. Learning every crevice of someone’s soul while they crave and dig to know mine. The look in someone’s eyes when talking about something they feel so strongly about. Obsession. The art of eye contact and how that portal closes out the world around the two. Time stops, hearing muffles. It’s a trance to hold that intentionally, and that’s the thrilling rush I chase. Kissing in the rain because I’ve always wanted to and not following the nonchalant rulebook created by “dark femme” culture on TikTok. I’m not chill, unfortunately. I’m an addict. Addicted to the adrenaline from living through my heart. Addicted to red flags — in myself and others. Without warning. Rough love, tough love. What I crave I’ve never known nor seen — only felt. In the marrow of my bones. When you know, you know? Every sense lighting up. Dopamine centers craving. Oxytocin and vasopressin. Adrenaline. Endorphins. Standing at the edge of the cliff — “I’ll jump if you jump”. But with no hesitation of distrust. An unspoken soul tie that somehow you’ll catch one another. Amygdala calming. Electric tingles and dilated pupils.  Passion is a fire and I almost let mine die. Note to self — keep gasoline and a match as a common household item. Not to burn it down, but light it up. There are things to be done by me that are done better by me than any other human being in the world. Every word, every movement, every gesture of mine preserves my timeless stamp upon life. As long as time has been or ever will be, there is no one who can exactly duplicate me. That’s beautiful. That’s treasured. I appreciate my own company and fall in love with being alone every day; but who am I to lock her away?