I’m supposed to be working.
I’m supposed to be wheeling and dealing and marketing.
I’m supposed to be making money.
Instead I’m sitting and thinking and staring out the window at the empty lot across the street and watching a rare Georgia breeze persuade the trees. Instead I’m shirking text messages and avoiding missed calls while getting lost in the pangs and gears of my heart and mind. Whenever I was distant as a child, or rebellious or somehow wayward, my mother would point her finger at me and say We need to have a heart to heart! It’s too difficult to explain how someone can lose their mother without her passing away, so I won’t. But any time I feel something that I don’t want to feel, I think of her words. There’s a certain skill one must possess in giving themselves their own heart to heart, and I’ve never developed the skill. This creates a woman who secretly questions every other person’s words and compares them to their deeds, usually determined unsatisfactory.
Often times, I’m not even sure what I think or feel about something emotive until it comes out of my mouth. This comes from years of not acknowledging discomfort, pain or ache, until with such practice, the rogue emotion is suppressed before it’s even a blip on the radar. This creates a woman, who in mid-sentence, may stutter at the realization of her own feelings or a woman who appears poised and charming but is boiling underneath. Or a woman who goes around with a constant vague distraction or essence of guilt and she doesn’t know why.
I’m supposed to be honest.
I’m supposed to be more accepting of those I love than those I don’t.
I’m supposed to be tolerant and just.
I’m accusable of being a sophist in public, and a mourner in private and I sometimes have to try on the truth to see if it fits. I only know once it’s expressed aloud if I really meant it. There are many words that, under no circumstances, should be uttered unless they’re unconditionally true without question – and for this reason, it takes me quite a long time to make up my mind. This creates a woman, who with others, speaks of and flirts with things too freely which do not matter, and who alone, ruminates over the things that do. Or a woman, who when her mind is made up, simply cannot unmake it.
But I am a gift made for sharing, and am not selfish enough to run and hide. I say this as I have a habit of letting things develop past the point of no return where smarts creep into selfishness. Admittedly, I shine brighter with reciprocity. Though, I have yet to find someone who mutually matches me in accountability of words and actions. I take strolls through others’ dark places and somehow leave a little light. I once read the phrase I like to leave things better than I found them, and I do – and I’m right to say that I had to leave them. This typically leaves me worse for wear. And this creates a woman, though steadfast, keeps connections at a distance of those she wants closest for fear of disappointment and having to piece herself back together once more.
I’m supposed to be strong.
I’m supposed to be able to recognize red flags and be intelligent enough to walk away.
I’m supposed to be looking out for number one.
Instead I’m sitting and thinking and staring out the window at the empty lot across the street daring not to say aloud that maybe this time, hopefully this time, I’m supposed to be proven wrong.