Sunset through how it feels

I hate this season and this time. Senior year. 

The tragic and overbearing, the vacant and nothing like anything before. 

At least not for me. 

There’s no way I can’t be the only one who feels irredimable and unbearable and itchy and sick of her skin. 

“What do you want?”

I’m in a seat, in a room and my mind is spiraling. I want to be away. Far and different. Back in time is what I really want to say but I stop myself. 

I close my eyes. 

Don’t be problematic. 

My professor Pam tells me to rest my feet on the floor. 

“You have to feel the earth”, she tells me and I think this is true.

 I need it to be true. 

What if I’m not good enough?

I know I sound confused but do you ever get the feeling that you’re being left? Gosh, I’d never shout this. But It’s what I fear. It’s the big deal, the main reason.

I’m throwing up on the sides of the roads and panicking at my disco. 

I miss my friends but they’re all three years away. Pushing four. Real bad. 

I want to figure out my life. Now. I sit on this. Am I sane? Closer to death?

Is that what it is? Closer to the unknown? Is this my pull? The dopamine for the season. 

I’m outstretching my friends and seeing their marks on my wrists. Oh boy. Here comes the stable song. I need a stable song. 

I sit with Rachel and she tells me to relax and take it slow. But then she tells me something in the moment that’s making her deeply and irreversibly different. Because the thing about being in a room with someone that’s changing is that the air is thinner. The room will smell like rain and your eyes will begin to burn. 

I wonder when it will be okay. 

It never is. 

But Pam says the time will pass. The people I meet the version of now and here, feel peculiar and narrow. A hallway of uncertainty and static. Rachel helps me and Pam hears me. Nothing is new, but I’m stable because good people make me less blue.