1 / 31 /2019

As I get older, I feel further from where and who I want to be, and I wonder if it’s better to accept that I’ll probably never be.

It’s a concept I’ve struggled all of my life because all of my life, despite feeling old, I’ve been playing a game of catch up with no one. I’m chasing an afterimage that’s been long gone by the time I’ve gotten close to it. It’s been a long game of defining what I think happiness is, and it’s a tiresome cycle because that image is in constant fluctuation, so I wonder if I could even get grip my hand on something so malleable that it wouldn’t just change shapes if I were to finally hold it in my hands.

Maybe one day I’ll have a job that I’m not ashamed of. Maybe one day I’ll have friends I’m not afraid to spend time with. Maybe some day I’ll have a family of my own who I can love and who will love me.  Maybe some day I’ll find companionship. Maybe one day I’ll go back to London and see my sister. Maybe someday life won’t seem so lonely. Maybe one day I can have a conversation with others where we only talk about them because I’m ashamed of how life turned out, so I don’t want the conversation to steer my way. Maybe one day I’ll finish college. Maybe one day I can understand more about happiness. Maybe one day I can just learn to be okay. Maybe one day I’ll like how I look. Maybe one day I’ll wear the clothes I wish I could afford. Maybe one day my room won’t be covered in pill bottles and trash. Maybe one day I’ll have another dog. Maybe one day I’ll have a daughter. Maybe one day I’ll get married. Maybe one day I’ll find life more enjoyable. Maybe one day.

I hope I’m still alive to see the day.