Pinned
Confusion
I take my hair between my fingers, it's long this time –it brushes my shoulders–, longer than I've had it in years, and I twist it, I twist it with my thumb and index finger, and I feel it in a way that reminisces of my youth, of simpler days.
I met a boy –I don't like boys–. The boy made me laugh, he made me wanna talk, for hours on end, it was a sudden rush of contentment and I couldn't help but feel safe.
It's rain season and the sky is crying and maybe I just want someone to warm my chilly bones curled up in bed. Maybe I just wanted hands to roam my body to heat it up. It's rain season and it feels like I'm in love, yet, the words feel so wrong in my tongue. I speak them none the less, because if I don't then my partner might leave me chilled.
I take strands of my long hair, and I paint it gold –it was meant to be gray–, I'd never done this before. Rain season is almost over, the windy spring is taking the reigns. The hands I allowed to warm my skin feel strange, unwanted, suffocating –maybe the rush is gone–. The word 'love' has always felt wrong, and it no longer falls from my tongue.
I comb my fingers through my hair, it's short again, close up to my skull. Maybe I simply don't want love, just warmth.
– Aster V. Sunday/July/5/2020 5:30 p.m.
