To Be Me

There’s a scratch above my forehead, that bled slightly. It will heal in a day or two, how did it happen? I do not know. But maybe the wound will stay open long enough for real change to occur. Most moments in life pass and you don’t realize that this was a moment. This is it. Someone’s probably said that before, but as I sit here typing, my legs shaking, I know this moment right now, will change my life. I said I wanted to change, because whether you like it or not change happens. And maybe if I say it, I will have control over it. I am torn between my heart and head, and I still don’t know which will win over. 

I wake up every morning at peace, for about a minute nothing worries me. There is a bit of light that seeps through my curtains and hits my ceiling. I sometimes hear a honking, commuters on their way to someplace.  Where am I on my way too?

I slept last night, thanks to some cold medicine, and now almost feel brand new. Everything is new lately, with my move. I haven’t moved, but it’s all I can talk about. Is there anything else to talk about? Everyone wants something brand new. When something is new, it’s usually in perfect condition. It’s shiny, representing a fresh start. As adults, we are broken, from the reality of what life is. And just starting seems overwhelming, for as adults, we are usually somewhere in the middle. The middle of success, failure, fatigue. 

I am actually writing a lot, the most I have in a really long time. It’s why I came to New York, and now I’m leaving, having not accomplished anything I set out too. That might always be an open wound for me. Maybe that’s why I am writing? To prove that I still can. I couldn’t ever say I was a writer, because I was never published. But I write, in the dark, trying to locate that area that lives, somewhere between my heart and my head. And the war that goes on between the two, everyday, in an attempt to be me.