mai (zing_boom) wrote,


i know it's not spring. and that i don't look like that anymore. my hair is shorter and i haven't worn eyeliner all year. my body is different and i probably threw out that shirt after i wore it too much. and that window. i haven't stared out from that window in over two years, though, i sometimes still ride my bike by it and look up. sometimes, at nighttime, the lights are on and it makes me wonder what of my energy was left behind in there.

for some reason, i can always rely on livejournal to trick myself into writing. something about it feels safe, non-committal, low-pressure, while allowing that soft whisper to blow behind my ears: what you write is beautiful. maybe it's the glory of the high-school days i feel nostalgic for, where 4 or 5 comments of praise were exciting! motivating! empowering! actually, come to think of it, it was much more than those 4 or 5 comments that i found here. livejournal was my first experience with building a community based around my own, self-determined expression.

why i've come back. why does one return? i will always return back to myself. i wonder if this is the space where i will do that. i wonder if this will be around for a lifetime. i recently was telling my lover that i get the past 3 years all jumbled up, forgetting what took place within what numbers, when i felt like what, and with whom. i told them, i'm going to go back to my livejournal and map out the last 3 years of my life based on who i was or was not dating at the time, because that is usually an indicator of my emotional, political, social and creative self.

i want to know where i've been. what i've been through. this past year has been this uncomfortable stretching of the self, a shedding of skin. and when it's hard, i have to remember, that it's just the beginning. though, it always does feel like the beginning. each year after going through some level of intellectual/political/emotional growth, i say, wow, i am now living with my eyes open. but this year, i don't see it as such. the awareness doesn't feel like a beginning, but more like a calming down, a welcoming of struggle, and change, of the unknown.

and before i force myself to sleep, what do i tell you of today? of the morning's wetness? a finished book? the start of another? longing, how i'm always longing. how i am constantly running from and towards myself.
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