On a Bathroom Wall I Wrote

“He’ll find a way”

PicMonkey Collage

It is now two Saturdays that we’re slamming car doors, and listening to the echoes of Uber drivers treating us as human beings rather than customers (thank u), but choice is the message, and the medium gets lost in people using their voice to take up space but the music’s too loud, it’s drowning us out.

It’s the fact that worth itself begins to grow the more you start to create this invisible defense for a person. We venture off into the world, and rely on spontaneous haircuts to settle us down. But I don’t want to be just content with settling upon a situation that’s going to make you feel smaller, if anything time has taught me to put up a fight against the idea of letting things happen. Being quietly brave has it’s perks sometimes.

God, it’s just all so messy. It’s the different versions of individuals, it’s the copious amounts of layers. Yes that was a Shrek reference. My guess is that these parts of us were left behind and shaped by other people, to which we adapt to. But on March 23rd of last year, almost exactly a year ago I started writing on walls and hoped that the faded ink would absorb into the wall. My hands are finally clean. How wonderful is it that after all of the rubbish, these new individuals receive a new version of you. A different kind of sobriety.

The worst part about writing an essay is whether or not your thesis is strong enough. Whether your argument is strong enough, or too broad. But that’s why I’ve always had difficulty proving to others why I was the better choice.

But are you sure that’s who you want to go home with?

What’s keeping me from pulling a Hemingway, and running to Paris is the fact that I am no longer haunted by the poor choices others have made. It was 2am and the windows of the taxi cab were playing different movie scenes. It was liberating to know that this was exactly where these individuals needed to be. That sobriety in a night club makes you extremely aware of the knots people have that are just dying to be unraveled, just don’t pull too hard.

We can catch ourselves in the reflection of an empty glass many times throughout the night, and maybe there’s an explanation, or maybe poor timing has to be a skill of mine and I just keep getting better and better at it. But sometimes, the only thing we can do is smile politely, wish them a goodnight, and start over again tomorrow.

Daniella

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