Forget Me

I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit about how to give and take.
But since I came here
Felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake
-Yael Naim

I saw my life, saw it so clearly: I saw all of my mistakes like I was looking down on them, reading them, seeing them, knowing them. I saw them, insignificant, like the little marbles children play with, thumping them into cracks or between the spaces where furniture sits away from the walls, forgetting they ever existed; I saw all of it, every tick tick tick, like I could stop time or rewind it, or slow it down. I could speed it up until it fell, motionless- until I could see the end- and I stepped into my old bones like chalk, and turned my head to look back, and there it all was again, every tick tick tick- all in a row- from the beginning where I laid curled in black and empty, waiting to be filled; to the end where everything was white, burning, expanding, bursting: It was over.

The person I lived as, never the person I was. Always hoping for the next tick to change. “The next one, the next one, the next one.” But each second came, came, came, and went; just like the one’s before it. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll be braver, wiser, better. And I saw my life: I saw it there, all in white just before it burst and burned out, and I realized sitting in the backseat of a car that I’m dying.

It’s ending. The ticks are carrying me to the front of the line that I’ve only just gotten into. And I look at my own life, my own blank page, and fill it up with meaningless letters I’ve grabbed while peaking through cracks in my fingers from the hands nearest mine: j-o-b, m-o-n-e-y, h-o-u-s-e, s-e-c-u-r-i-t-y. But I saw pictures today of the most lifelike statues I’ve ever seen, sitting on the floor of the ocean. And they were quiet, and still, and I wanted to sink, heavy, and stand next to them. I don’t know why, I guess I just thought if I could stand there, I could be beautiful like them- Just as I am. I could live to the end as me, and the coral that would clothe my arms and legs with every tick, tick wouldn’t change me or hide me, but become a part of me.

I don’t know which is worse, to have your life end in oblivion or to know how your life will end, unable to find the will or courage to change it. Today I could run, and it would all change: I could go to Tuscany, I could just be an English major with no idea of where I’m going to work, but happy to spend my days writing, I could wear white cotton flowers in my hair, I could kiss him first, I could write the stories I’ve wanted, I could make the confession, I could let the words go from behind my closed teeth, I could sing to you: I could, but I look towards the white, and it’s hard to imagine. I’m the statue with its eyes opened- seeing, but not moving- too afraid I’ll break or chip away.

I saw my life today, and the only real mistake I’ve ever made is hiding being the person you expect me to be.