I Used to Laugh at the People Who Watched Birds

Now, I am one of them

Picture is a part of author’s collection. ❤

Exhaustion is real. The chronic kind that doesn’t seem to dissipate with sleep, the kind that lingers beneath my exterior that is bubbly, caffeinated delirium.

I remember everything. I don’t remember anything. Every other heartbeat contradicts the one that came before it, challenging my status as a living being, calling into question everything that composes the little thing I call reality.

Sometimes, the past doesn’t feel real; sometimes, the present is nothing but autopilot in gift wrap with a bow, watching myself go through the motions like I’m watching me, the movie.

What a story…if any of it really happened.

I doubt myself until I doubt the spelling of the very word, asking why a silent b feels more freedom to take up space than I do to breathe. My breathing feels heavy. I stress about the feeling until my blood pressure is the real cause for alarm.

Just stop being stressed.

As a child, I was the one to look out the window on long drives, getting lost in the fabric of blurry trees for hours at a time, writing my own stories. Still, I laughed at the people who watched birds. I thought them hilarious.