growing up

now and then, not always.

It’s been months.

My world has changed in some ways, but tonight I feel like I could have felt seven years ago, and like I acted three or four years after that.

A feral cat escaped from my new apartment building and a twenty-year-old vomited on the back stairs. The events weren’t connected but make me feel the same nonetheless: life is surprising, scary and disgusting.

A ten-year-old told me he couldn’t breathe and another said she liked my belt. Listening is hard and hidden directions on homework seem unfair. He doesn’t care if he’s picked last in football and she’d rather not go outside. He doesn’t know why he told me his work was a drawing and she can’t decide what it is she doesn’t understand.

Move forward and you’ll get somewhere. Stop talking and hear yourself breathe. I know these words and speak these words. It’s called practice, not perfect, but computers make me feel like deleting is an option for change. Technology and excuses marry; I don’t even want to go. False cognates aren’t just in Spanish class, and strong trees don’t have to be strangled by vines.

My apartment doesn’t smell like home yet, but soon enough it will.


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