Open To Interpretation

ABC

There are only so many words in the English language. Only so many letters, only so many sounds. I've said it a million different times, in a million different ways, with a million different syllables. I'm tired. I can tell you about every afternoon that I ate lunch alone, every night that I spent crying, every morning that I wished would be my last. I can write you a hundred different sentences, a thousand different poems, a million different paragraphs. But NOTHING will ever amount to feeling it. I can't, with the ABC's that Sesame Street taught me, even begin to describe the absolutely CRUSHING feeling of realizing that you don't know where the emptiness ends and you begin. You could tie all the ribbons in the world around your fingers but you would never again remember what it felt like to laugh so hard that your stomach hurt. To feel the wide grins burn your cheek, to dance in the rain and fall in love with your friends and miss coming home and wipe away the blur of your tears and smell the flowers and read a book and feel like you're someone who's feet are planted to the ground because goddamnit, you were made to be here and the waste of the air you breathe is worth it because you are someone who is worth it because you are worth something. Because when you spend less time thinking about how to improve your future than trying to figure out how to prevent it from even starting, it's harder to cry than it is to laugh. Jokes are still jokes and jokes are still funny, but laughing is a reflex. When sad things aren't sad and sad is the baseline, you spend hours in bed mustering up the first teardrop. There is nothing left to cry for, because there is nothing left to mourn. There is nothing left to lose.