My mind has little compartments. Little boxes that if could be, would be, labeled with bright post-it notes listing out their contents. A bright blue one for the good stuff - the memories and the people in them. An orange one for all the to-dos. A red one for the decisions you need to take and have been putting off. The mustard yellow that warns you about its contents, imploring you to find another box to open.
There are these brilliant people out there who are all zen about the people who hurt them. These people are all "You wrong-ed me but I am the bigger person and I forgive you because you don't know any better." These people have all my respect. But I am not like that. I don't plan to be, even. If you did something to me that affected me in a fashion that found its way into the box with the mustard yellow post-it, please make yourself scarce. I don't think of you very often, I almost never feel bad about you now, but I have not forgiven you.
The people who hurt you find a way to change a little part about you. Maybe you're a little more insecure, maybe you judge yourself too harshly now, maybe you have an eating disorder. You don't admit it, you say your bigger than all that, but you know it's true. Especially on days when you're down in the dumps and your writing is a mess and you are stuffing your face with unhealthy food. Then you secretly strive to believe in yourself and you do your best to not be insecure. You hold on fiercely to what you have now because it makes you happy in a way that you wouldn't have imagined a few years ago.
The people who live inside the tiny box with the blue post it find a way to make me happy everyday. They wave at me as I pass them by inside my head and outside they call me and say things that make me laugh. If I shut my eyes and imagine them laughing, clear ringing laughter, it makes me feel very calm. The blue people are a part of me, they are a part of who I am. They are all over my writing, my phone, my speed-dials and if I see them after a long period of time I squeal loudly and give them rib cracking hugs. ( Or squeal silently and give them small hugs, as per their preference.)
Some of these boxes gather dust a lot, some play a tune when opened.
There are these brilliant people out there who are all zen about the people who hurt them. These people are all "You wrong-ed me but I am the bigger person and I forgive you because you don't know any better." These people have all my respect. But I am not like that. I don't plan to be, even. If you did something to me that affected me in a fashion that found its way into the box with the mustard yellow post-it, please make yourself scarce. I don't think of you very often, I almost never feel bad about you now, but I have not forgiven you.
The people who hurt you find a way to change a little part about you. Maybe you're a little more insecure, maybe you judge yourself too harshly now, maybe you have an eating disorder. You don't admit it, you say your bigger than all that, but you know it's true. Especially on days when you're down in the dumps and your writing is a mess and you are stuffing your face with unhealthy food. Then you secretly strive to believe in yourself and you do your best to not be insecure. You hold on fiercely to what you have now because it makes you happy in a way that you wouldn't have imagined a few years ago.
The people who live inside the tiny box with the blue post it find a way to make me happy everyday. They wave at me as I pass them by inside my head and outside they call me and say things that make me laugh. If I shut my eyes and imagine them laughing, clear ringing laughter, it makes me feel very calm. The blue people are a part of me, they are a part of who I am. They are all over my writing, my phone, my speed-dials and if I see them after a long period of time I squeal loudly and give them rib cracking hugs. ( Or squeal silently and give them small hugs, as per their preference.)
Some of these boxes gather dust a lot, some play a tune when opened.
Such a cute concept :) I know the box I am in, haha (such conceit and confidence, tsk tsk)
ReplyDeleteMy favorite lines - 'If you did something to me that affected me in a fashion that found its way into the box with the mustard yellow post-it, please make yourself scarce. I don't think of you very often, I almost never feel bad about you now, but I have not forgiven you'
Some play a tune when opened you say :D?
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