I’m blurred some days; so I try to figure out where my edges are and how much space I take up in the world in that moment. Some days its as if my true self is a smudge across paper, never really comfortable in the ways that the edges of who I am sit against the folds of reality. Some days, I think I could be better but decide I should dwell on who I think I am. My past mistakes seem to well up like tears, like water overflowing in a basin that I thought might have been big enough. Some days I’m blurred out negatively, a figure within a bad Polaroid picture that had been taken at the wrong time, shaken in the wrong ways.
I don’t think that the real issue is that I am suffering, but that I cannot (or will not) recall the times in which I have felt something deeper than this ache that sits at the pit of my chest, lower than my heart could reach on those some days. I was never able to see silver linings, but I never really tried either. Some days it seems like moments of comfort and joy seem stretched out across the universe, thinned by moments of anxiety and pain that I cannot place. Some days I think about the people I love and wonder of all the things they could hate me for but don’t.
Its not that I like to avoid the gentle gazes of the people that I love, and the light of their eyes when they smile. Its just that on those some days I forget about all the love and feeling that exists between I and others. I could be overwhelmed, like the basin that’s too small, with the love that seems potent around me. I could overflow with the love that reaches for me even when I’m feeling empty on those some days.
I know that one day I can feel at peace with my boundaries, with my smudges that ripple across the universe’s page. That there is a one day, and that those some days won’t claim me. I know that there is a one day because t I feel it most days. I feel it in the tenderness in which the love of my life looks at me. I feel it in the way that my mom squeezes her eyes shut and leans forward when she wants to laugh but knows that she shouldn’t at my crudeness. I feel it when my sister cries, but then still smiles at my jokes. I feel it most days.