I can't take a breath

Things I Almost Meant They say frogs absorb water through their skin, and I think that’s beautiful. Imagine just standing in the rain and feeling full again. But no, I have to drink my feelings with a straw and pretend I never said I was easy to understand. I only said I was telling the truth, and even that was a lie I told politely. I love you in the way an abandoned shopping trolley loves the wind. Aimless. Loud. Somehow still useful. Don’t ask me how I’m doing unless you want the answer. And if I tell you I’m fine, know that “fine” is a weather system, not a feeling. I’m the kind of person who says sorry when the chair I trip over looks upset. That has to count for something. I once watched a snail cross a footpath for thirty minutes. It didn’t ask for applause. It just needed to be somewhere else. And I respected that. I think we should all be more like snails. Except faster. You keep asking what I want. I want a chair that doesn’t wobble, Someone who texts back with actual punctuation, and the ability to stop remembering things I didn’t enjoy the first time. That’s not a lot, right? I’m not angry at you. I’m angry that I can’t un-know what your silence means. I’m not heartbroken, either. I’m just surprised that you still show up in my dreams wearing the same jacket you left in my flat. I’m not always right. I’m just always tired. And although I joke too much, it’s because silence makes me itch. I don’t need you to say you love me. I just need you to look at me like I’m a new species and you’ve waited your whole life to meet me. I don't want to be forgiven, I want to be forgotten — which is basically the same thing except one of them doesn’t keep sending you Instagram ads about love. Forgiveness is overrated. Try remembering someone exactly as they were and loving them anyway. Try doing that with yourself. I once cried because I realised I’d never hold hands with a dinosaur. And that’s OK. Because I have fingers, and they still work, most days. I used to write letters to you and never send them. Now I write texts and delete them mid thought. This feels like evolution. Or cowardice. Someone told me that jellyfish have survived five mass extinctions. And they still have no brains. Which gives me hope. A barista drew a cat in my cappuccino foam today and I almost cried. Because no one had made me something gentle in months. Even though it was just milk. I know this doesn’t make sense. Neither does how bananas are berries and strawberries aren’t. But here we are. Everything I’ve said here is true except the part about the dinosaur. I’ve met one. Her name was June. She taught piano and smelled like biscuits. And although the world feels like static sometimes, the signal always comes back. Eventually.