The sun is shining.
Fuck everything else the sun is shining. I wake up at eight to a text that makes me crack up laughing and I pull my window open and listen. Birds are nesting above my room, in a couple of months I'll see the constant darting back and forth of swallows. The traffic is a distant grumble. There was a moment the night before when the cars and the shouting and the clack of my heels melded with the quiet buzz in my mind into something tangible. I've been incredibly pissed off lately. Missed messages and hypocrisy prevails once more and my chin juts out in defiance. I had more right to be upset, more right to be messed up. What do you have? Picking a problem and working your feelings like plasticine to fit your new point of view. Oh for goodness sake, grow up. Deal with it. I want to shake you up. Shake the phony right out of you. I think I outgrew you, and it saddens me but I'll keep my smile pasted wide. You'll never know and that's the way it should be.
But today the sun is shining and the world is sleeping and you fade away for a moment. You and everyone else that pesters and annoys. So ridiculous. So melodramatic. I left high school a long time ago I wish you'd let it be. And I'm striding out with my head held high. I have been stupid, I have been weak but it will not happen again. And though I complain and sigh and pout I am happy alone, my own self. No one person consumes my thoughts and I'm growing proud in my tastes. Proud in my work. I've gathered all my scraps, the hurried thoughts I had to get out on various modes of transport. It's not all entirely legible but I remember the sentiments. Ideas, oh god the ideas, they dance in my head and I giggle in the morning sunshine because I am good. My french fairy tale is blooming into something I love though it's still too french. But I want to advance so once I'm far enough on I'll backtrack and take out all the extraneous linguistics.
There's a woman on tv with fire hair. I don't know how she did it. But the curls and the varying colour combined to make fire. It's little mermaid hair. I am entranced.
After I take me mam to ikea for my belated mother's day tomorrow I'm going to tidy my room and throw myself into notebooks. I've stolen enough pens to last me a few weeks and I'm determined to complete something.
The sun is shining and burns away this evil month. This dreaded time of year that twists and stabs and worries and I ignore until nullity washes away the weeks. This year I'm going for something brighter, something more than neutrality. And whether I find it in a dark cinema theatre or on a pounding dancefloor or in the bottom of a bottle is irrelevant just so long as I get by.
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