Memoirs of an Introvert

My mind wanders. Sometimes it wanders too far along the way and I forget to call it back. I become so enveloped in stories, people and events that I feel them physically.

When it is 3 a.m. and they are wishing that their mind had potholes so it would be easier to forget everything that they had ever messed up; when it is 3 a.m. and keeping themselves from spilling their lives before others is the last thing on their minds, I want to say out loud everything I wrote and shoved into wine bottles and threw out of the window. I want to say how I wished we could paint happiness over mistakes and drain sadness from tears. How suffocated I felt inside this brown paper bag relationship that I shared with words- one of us has asthmatic breathing and its never them. I want to say that I’m not a season and that I won’t change; all I need is trust. I want to say that I had all the parts that they needed to fix what was broken inside of them. I want to say that in the silent moments, between stillness and time, I felt everything that I had been holding back. I wanted to say that I wished they would notice the sweet destruction rooted in my bones; the kind that could set the world on fire with flames so vibrant that they seldom fade from the ground. I want to say that I wished they would notice the half smile hidden under the thick collars of my knit sweater.

Except, I don’t say it.