Friday night: I tried to paint my nails crimson red, because I wanted to have the courage to write beautifully about an incident that happened earlier in the week—a memory I’ll always hold in the palm of my hands, dearly.
Earlier in the week: I woke up with the usual life-hate grogginess. I remained slumped on my white, filthy mattress and reached overhead to touch the surface of my mosquito net. Reality abruptly slammed itself into me: I remembered that I am in possession of a phone. I checked it, hoping to have received no texts from anyone. To my dismay, someone—a classmate in two of my classes and on whom I unfortunately have a crush—had texted me. I bolted upright and shrieked. I wanted to tweet about it RIGHT AWAY, because I have zero self-control, but a certain life force (maybe the Goddess?) pulled me from it. S/O to the Goddess—feminism lives on.
I was floored. It felt like the universe was building me a time machine, not for changing past life events but for feeling certain teenage feelings. Feelings that everyone, in one way or another, should feel at least maybe thrice (???) in their lifetime. I can’t remember, honestly, the last time I was in Crush Cloud Nine. So maybe that was my Crush Cloud Nine moment—a sugar rush of pretty, pastel-hued feelings, which my “adult” mind tried to rationalize and dissect after I got off my unicorn-drawn chariot from Crush Cloud Nine Nation. I was petty, and I loved it.
Where did my youth go?
Monday: Now I’m also always crying, sometimes with a reason but mostly for no reason at all. I feel sad about everything, even the pale early morning light I marvelled at as I was going home from studying out in a crappy coffee shop. I asked a friend to take a photo of me standing pensive under the yellow streetlights with the pale blue early morning sky behind and above me. I got some hash browns and a hot chocolate for my grandmother. I tucked myself into my fresh lavender mattress and fell asleep sighing.
I guess I’ll end this here. I didn’t know how to start writing this, because I thought that not writing about it beautifully would sort of crack this purple, hazy, magical illusion/image I have in my mind. Whatever, I guess, because now I hold the memory. It satiates me. ♦