Yet again, here I am, overthinking things that I shouldn't but it's hard to avoid not doing  so when you're waiting for a huge change to happen.

My life is dull. Routines on top of one another. Daily conversations that ebb into nothingness and complete irrelevance, sometimes I forget what we even talked about.

The spaces in my head are occupied with peculiarity and distress and I am often dressed in a color that makes people presume that I am suicidal.

I have been in love, but I was never the lover who received genuineness from another. I was always the giver, emptying and deflating the lungs trapped in my rib cages. I released the life out of me for that person who considered me a girl and a friend, not the words put together.

The only time I am understood is when I sit behind a screen, mouthing out the lyrics while my eyes blink and speak. I drown away the letters on the keyboard and tower over them, replacing each with watery words.

Every evening, my breath paces back and forth the four corners of my room. Screen too bright to see what's around, and I wait in anticipation for the roof to collapse and surround me with its rubble.

Often times I wonder if my conversations will ever consist of importance. Whether my words will reach another person, instead of bouncing back to me, cutting through the skin and past my bones.

When will I ever empty out my lungs of oxygen?
When will I ever replace it with something of significance and worth keeping?

n.j.