Nobody sat me down before it was too late
And told me that this world was going to be like it is.
Nobody said to me,
"There will be days that feel like wet woolen blankets
And settle over your mouth and keep the fresh air out.
There will be days when you feel each second like a razorblade,
And days when the minutes blur by in blissful softness.
There will be days that feel, indeed, exactly the way it feels to step out
Into the sunlight on a clear summer morning,
And there will be days- whether good or bad- for which there are simply no words at all,
And those days will always scare you the most because
They can't be captured or understood.
There will be countless days that feel like leaden weights attached to your ankles
At the bottom of a cold sea
And many that slip by like grains of sand through your fingers,
Rough and smooth at once, neither warm nor frigid.
And there will come a day,
Every so often,
When you can see that your days are wearing thin,
The way that a sock wears thin when you have walked a long way in it over the years,
And the threads begin to fray.
These days will make your heart constrict because
No matter how many more you can see marching towards you in the distance
You know there could never possibly be enough of them to save you."
Nobody told me these things.
Nobody explained that it would be this way,
That every day would have its own feeling,
And I would have to learn anew to cope each morning.
Nobody explained to me that there is no cure for living,
For the ache in your stomach that makes you want to give up
Or for the ache in your heart that is so sweetly, electrically terrible you can't stand it.
There is no medication to treat how each day treats you.
I wish someone would have told me.
But,
Then again,
What exactly could I have done
If somebody had?