Useless Worries, Hungry Eyes

Windchimes and revving truck motors floating through my open window. It's a beautiful day and I'm sitting here on the computer struggling to find the right words to bring me home again. I have to write out the mistakes and faults in myself so that they can be read and judged and analyzed and hopefully in the end, if i prove worthy, i can see my best friends husky blue eyes and start looking for prom dresses like the rest of the high school universe. I can stop worrying about plane tickets and custody and start worrying about my roots showing and my pale skin. Put away this game of pretend that I'm sick of playing.

I don't want to grow up.

I shouldn't have to. Not now. Not yesterday. Not when I was seven and you locked those doors for nine hours while my sister screamed and my brother cried and I shoved my face with more chilly dogs than my pudgey body could handle. Not when you were heartbroken again and i held that heaving body with tired arms.

I'm learning that all this worrying is useless. Worrying if they will still love me when I get back, worrying if my laugh will sound the same, worrying if all the pretty eyed boys I put my faith in never really cared. Worrying if I'll be at an airport a week from now or flying high above these corn fields and legislative lunches. Worrying if i miscounted my calories or gave my heart to the wrong person. These things are inconsequential. I live in a world full of worriers who are missing the beautiful simplictity in every single moment. Who forget to meditate because the news is screaming and time is flying through their acyrilic fingertips. I've been burying myself in books and reading about art and Buddah and reincarnation and the soul. About love and illusion and God and sin. These are not the kind of books that end with happily ever afters but they are opening my mind and helping me breathe through the lonliness. Pages of inspiration that I'm drinking with hungry blue eyes.