I own nothing. Hate the idea. Since death is imminent, nothing is permanent, and I prefer it that way. Everything in my possession is merely borrowed until the next person comes along to fill it with more stories than mine. Adding to its age and life and experience. I am a
borrower.
A renter.
A boarder.
A wallflower in the body of a nomad,
constantly craving new.
I am terrified of social situations yet continue to put myself in them.
For fun.
Adrenaline and anxiety are hard to distinguish if there is even anything to distinguish the two. Both make the heart race, chest ache, throw breath's pace, send that shot of tingling numbness through veins like drugs I have only seen in movies. I've constricted belts around my body for vastly different reasons,
I digress.
I own nothing, not even myself, as it seems I am a vessel for messages from the universe. A vessel of light for those who live their lives believing they own everything, confusion ravaging their minds once they realize they do not. My feelings are fleeting because I do not try to hold on, in a world of butterflies I refuse to serve as the cage. Love and hate come and go, body revolving through both, seeing the past through scratched glass.
I am not a good companion because I will urge you to explore options other than me.
I am not a good friend because I am bad at being the best.
I overthink every single "I love you" and will stop giving them if you do not say it first.
I let go of everything, not out of fear of its own leaving, but out of concern for anything that ever wants to stay.
Why would you want to?
