Contelysia

My mother always told me to keep myself first. To keep my head up high- no matter what makes me feel otherwise. To smile in the face of trouble, to cry when I feel like it, to demand when I needed to, to request when I wanted to, but never beg. Never lower who I was for someone who wouldn't care about me as I did about them. In silence, I lose myself. In solitude, I forget everything, and I reach for someone. Someone to talk to. Perhaps, picking the phone up. Perhaps, dialing your number or dropping a text after you've left me on seen for eight hours.  Keep my head up high. You don't need me as I need you. You could care less while I give my whole world to you. My time, my space, my mind, my soul - while you couldn't spare a minute of your "forgiveness": forgiveness for something I did that was never wrong. Forgiveness for something that only gave you a chip more of who I am. Maybe you smile as I apologize. Maybe you laugh, pointing a metaphorical finger at me

 He pulls me by my hand, making me stand on my wobbly feet.  "Come with me," he says, tightening his grip on my left hand. Perhaps, to the bystander, that grip was firm. Firmer than comfortable, but that grip anchored me. Reminded me of who I was and who I wanted to be.  Free. I want to be free.  I respond with the same fervor, pulling him towards me and wrapping my arms around his neck, the envelope fluttering from the movement. His encircle my waist, his voice echoing in my ears, "I want you to go with me," he says softly, his face buried in the crook of my neck. I shake my head, tears almost building up in my eyes as I fight my emotions. It was true. I want to go, maybe be with him. His voice calms me, his presence fills me with joy, his words bring me ecstasy, and his touch grounds me: but he was not who I wanted to be. He means captivity. I want to be free. "I-" my words begin without tallying with my mind, making him step back and look at me. The met

I hate Tuesdays. It might have been a mundane thing to say if it wasn't for the fact that while Mondays have me skipping to work (note the sarcasm) after a restful weekend (note the sarcasm, again) while Tuesdays have me wishing for Friday again. Just one day of work, and that's how I feel. I feel like I need to  Netflix and chill  again, without the euphemistic  part of it. But I've got Liv with me. I'll feed her those cheddar goldfish she loves so much. Livie's my cat, if you didn't know that. And no, I am not the old cat-lady. I'm barely thirty. ...okay, I'm thirty-eight but that's definitely not the point. Now, coming back to Tuesdays.  I might have disliked Tuesdays a little less if it weren't for yesterday. You guessed it, yesterday was a Tuesday. What's worse this time?  I saw someone kill someone.  I know what you're saying. What does the crazy cat-lady know?! That's what I thought, too. I knew, for a fact, that I was not h