Weekend Mornings

Some mornings I wake up to the screaming and violent presence of an angry mother. An unpleasant beginning begets another dull day, either ending with me doing absolutely nothing productive or being harassed to some level. That is how my weekends usually carry out... It's a terrible process. All I want is a quiet day, one where I won't have to hear about my useless contribution to society and life in general. I passive-aggressively approach this situation often in my head; I always end up being some sort of doctor, fixing life's mistakes–myself and my actions. Other times, I create an alternate universe because reality is not my friend. In the end, I always bear with the situation and say nothing, do nothing, and act as though nothing happened. The other day, someone told me I was perfect. Funny, because I am no where close to perfect.

Extraordinary

I look at the mass of flesh in the mirror and I see someone normal. I am not fat, but not amazingly thin. My legs are far from bulky, but they are not fragile sticks. I am normal. I want to be extraordinary. Not normal. Far from myself. Extraordinary. Just for you.

Next to you, I am a destructive wreck, a sharp contrast from the perfection that you are. Subconsciously, I feel that I do not deserve you in my life, therefore I don't deserve to be happy. You are too perfect. I want to change. I need to change.

Your presence brings the feeling of joy to the surface. I don't know how to cope with being happy. I don't know how to handle kindness and your undying grace. I want to deserve you.

When I say I love you, I love you wholly and tragically. I love the sincerity in your smile, the way the ends of your lips lift up, and how that could drastically change into a broken frown, a grim line, quivering and shaking. I love the crinkling of your wonderful eyes, as it glistens with your illuminating joy, and I love it still, even when the tidal waves come rushing out, leaving nothing more but a jaded expression and a dull gleam in those once shining orbs. I love the timbre of your speech, the melodic values of your voice, how it leaps from tone to tone, akin to a symphony, and how it trembles and shakes with dissonance whenever you are distressed.

I love the soft pitter-pattering of your feet, the music your feet create when you walk; I also love your retreating figure, your slouching form, the way it fades with the distance as you walk away from me. I love you so much I think I need you. I love you so much I want to be the ideal of image of beauty you were looking for. I love you so much I think I don't need you. I love you so much I could throw away my silly desires for more and be happy with nothing more. I love you so much, but I need more. I love you so much, that I can't love you so much.