oh spring

This is not how Spring is supposed to welcome me. It is 74 degrees I am in my bedroom crawled on my bed watching the thunder and rain outside of my window as Cigarettes After Sex casually plays on my computer. My allergies are making me confidently miserable and my uterus hurts. I wonder about all the things I’m meant to be doing at 23, it often feels I keep using stepping stools to get there. I’m scared I will blink and my ambitions will suddenly die in the same grave my age left me.

I spoke to a boy and he smiled at me, part of me felt the guilt of allowing someone to smile at me but part of me wanted to indulge in the laughter. I cannot feel too happy living this solitary life. As humans, we are tempted to isolate ourselves when problems arise but the human condition longs for touch.

The Spring is the time to indulge in all of the fruit that life offers you, literally and figuratively. Spring is the insatiable hunger of picking and consuming berries lying on a blanket somewhere bright and green. Your fingertips caressing the surface of a lake as the sun hits your bare chest. The season of wearing white and staining your soft fabrics.

I’m forced to be left being the writer in the dark, sleeping with socks under blankets, shivering from the cold. Sometimes the moonlight brightens my room, when I look outside it’s only traffic lights. Everything natural somehow has recreated in its superficial form. I have been often deceived, what should I trust in the absence of natural stimulus?