Fall used to remind me of a boy in gray sweatpants driving around East Lansing, Michigan where the world seemed so big and my future so certainly suburban. But now it’s skyscrapers and skylines you see on postcards and people who do what they say and say what they mean and mean it when they say they love me. Fall, like that boy, used to take me from blooming, to wilting, to frozen-freezing-and most often numb to all feeling for an entire Winter’s time. But now Fall reminds me of a girl who wasn’t sure she could, but certain she should try. And she did, and she tries every day to be better than she was the last time and every Fall since has reminded her how good it feels to let the dead things go.
You’re not nice enough to yourself…you never really have been. Even when the world saw you as stone cold and borderline cocky it wasn’t because you stood rock solid in confidence, it’s because you were empty and all of your insecurities were ricocheting in your rib cage, because you were dead inside; empty and freezing and barely surviving and the world so easily confuses cold with brave. But you’re not brave, you watch the cement as you walk because the light hurts your eyes and you’ve forgotten how to look directly at something so bold. You buy your pants in the next size up because any fabric holding onto your hips makes you regret what you ate for lunch and is yet another reminder that you never did look like the type of girl he always liked, as if you could ever forget. Brave hearts don’t spend the winter hibernating like you did, reaching for warmth from hundreds of miles away while shivering in an empty bed. Brave hearts are free and worth following, but you wear these chains like accessories, staying stagnant and a slave to your own sadness.