Have I been forgotten more than I’ve been remembered?
I’m afraid to ask but feel the gentle nudge of my overthinking little demon telling me I need to know. I want to preserve. That is my goal ultimately. Preserve my life, preserve my memories. If only I had done it sooner, maybe I could remember my own Mother’s voice. Maybe I could remember who I am. What I want to be. I am built of choices and principles that I am not entirely sure I agree with, but have I ever been entirely sure about anything? Uncertainty is my main anxiety, uncertainty is my most well established feeling, for there is no doubt in my mind that I am uncertain when I’m uncertain. Or maybe there is. I want to see color on my cheeks, happiness on my lips that shows with every word I say, a body I feel blessed to have no matter my weight. I want to taste happy. I want to taste it in all of its mellow waves of sweet fruit and darting sunsets. I want to taste the Caribbean Sea mixed with sweaty hands and palm trees. I want to be happy. That’s who I want to be. I know there’s no ending that ends with “Well kids, she did it! She found happiness and became nothing but an overflowing beam of light flooding those she loved with warmth and growth and the support she always wished she could give. She found happy.” But if I could just get a taste, a whiff of happiness, maybe that would be enough. Maybe then I could move on and pursue my next dream. Maybe if I caught a glance of happy I would gain the strength to fix our economy. I don’t want happy to be my “The End,” I want happy to be my “Sorry for the technical difficulties, now ladies and gentlemen, on with the show.” I want it to be what gives me the strength to do everything else. Maybe it’s nonsense, only a dream with no bearing to reality. Or maybe I am simply overlooking, overthinking, everything over, look down, look down! Stop being “Over,” things, you are over nothing, you are not the sky nor the clouds in it, you are not the highest branches nor the leaves that remain on it. You are the ground. The very definition of grounded. People walk on you because you let them, it makes you happy. People often see you as *****. You are the ground, which means you are necessary, you are what holds us together, quite literally. You are the ground, and that's makes you beautiful. You’re not intimidated by the footsteps of a thousand warriors for you are under them. And for once, that means you have the advantage. You are the ground. It is short and sweet, so why do you still manage to find misery? You are the ground from which happiness grows. I am happiness. You found me.

I hear the motor humming in the background

I hear the chirps from the morning birds, and even they don't sound enthusiastic about the time of day

I can hear your mom scratching bug bites on her arm. She scratches, digs, and scrapes, as if she is expecting to find something.

Bottles of sweet tea sit rattling next to me, clanking with each bump in the road, with each jump of my heart.

I hear brakes screeching to a slow stop, with a desperateness that reminds me of my darkest moments, my cries that no one witnessed, the tears that fell without acknowledgement.

The sun has yet to warm the world this morning, but it still casts its light on my arms, making my sunburn tingle but reminding me I'm alive

I can smell your great grandmother's perfume from when she hugged me so tight, reminding me of a family I never had.

I can smell the ocean, feel the grit of sand in the car. No matter how hard you try, we all take a bit of the beach home with us. It's salty waters one day blend with our salty tears.

But all I care to hear
Are your sweet shallow yawns and breathing. As long as you're breathing that's always all I need.

I think I could very well tackle anything if I knew all the time that you were alive, content, and happy.

I feel the need to give you an apology, for what I truly do not know. But whatever it is, I am genuinely sorry. Please, never let yourself go. Learn to love yourself as I love you.