Ache.

by Lillian Olson

Choosing to protect ourselves is not failure.”

Sinking I don't know what day of the week it is or what month it is or the season. It could be Tuesday, but if you told me it was Sunday I wouldn't be surprised. The days don't feel different anymore, they have no defining scent or flavor. I only knew my days by test dates and due dates and I only knew the season by the next holiday break. Now the days come and go as a rotation, simply the movement of the earth and the light of the sun or the moon. In school, I was always accomplishing something, always working towards something. There was forward motion and finished assignments were like the passing trees on a highway. Milestones and markers. Now there is no highway and there are no trees. I made my final stop and now I am walking circles; get up, go to work, complete a menial activity, go to sleep. Some days consist only of sleep, a menial activity or two and then sleep again. There is no moving forward. This is where I am and my goal is not to achieve forward motion. It is to be comfortable in my stasis. I realized while driving to work the other day that this is it. This is the rest of my life, the fruition of my maturity into adulthood. The days are short, too short to do much of anything. I sleep more than I exist in awareness and even when I am awake, I move through my day like a dream. Images will flitter through my mind, and I will wonder if it was a waking memory of the day before, or if it belonged to a dream. I...

The Queen of Lost Things She lit a candle for every dream caught in the crossfire of growing up and called herself the Queen of Lost Things.

Anxiety You woke up and the anxiety doesn’t make you squeeze your eyes closed again. You don’t pretend to sleep, though you want to. So badly you want to because if you sleep, the day can’t start. The dreaded day cannot begin. But you open your eyes and they stay open. You keep the panic at bay. Good job, sweetheart, you did an amazing job. That’s all you had to do and you did it. Feel proud, honey. I hope you feel proud of yourself. I’m proud of you. Now relax. — You get out of bed. You almost couldn’t do it because you were so scared of the monsters swarming as soon as you left the safe place. The progress was slow, one motion at a time Sit up, wait for the anxiety to spike then settle. Wrestle with the dread until its dull throbbing. You know how to ignore dull throbbing. One leg moves, the right foot touches the ground. The monsters don’t bite, at least not today. The other foot follows and you are standing. You shower. Good, good job. That is one of the most difficult things, I know. But you did it, you did it. Now relax. That’s all you had to do today. Maybe you’ll get further another day, but for now, that’s all. I am so proud of you. — Today, you might make it out the front door. You woke up, got out of bed, showered and now you are in front of the mirror. It’s okay baby, I don’t expect you to find features you like. That’s for another day. Today, you put on your war paint. Cover your pores so the bad th...

Lost I want to find a book that feels tired. All these novels are vibrating and vibrant— such loud, brash, plastic words. I want a book to talk to me quietly, hushed, using that tone that is reserved for late night conversations when the lights are out and those things that watch us, monitor us, are sound asleep. I want that moment when you reach out to that human being beside you and feel them living. Speak to me like that and I’ll know you’re real. I’ll listen, really listen.

Longing Who am I looking for when I turn to the first page? I need a first sentence that feels like honey against my scratching, aching soul. I want words that look me in the eye, that dance like starlight, bright and smoldering and utterly silent. I’m searching for my personal champion that bleeds in all the ways that I do. Where is my city hero with a name that no one knows, a name that no one has ever uttered? A useless ghost existing without purpose or ambition or passion. I need a narration, a Greek epic of all those perfect sad songs. Those words leave shadows on the wall and I want to know that silhouette; what this tantalizing creature thinks and feels— what their story is. Because they have felt the things that I have, I know it, I know it.

The world will dance with you if you start moving and moving is so much easier than you think.

You will know your truth when you see it. When a book resonates with you, when a painting moves you, when a sunset looks familiar, and foreign air feels like home against your skin, let it in.