Everything I am feels like a sack of bones. Broken scraps from the kitchen table, fed to the dog. I am the dog, drenched in blood, sweat, and tears, unable to shake the feeling I have killed a life, the little that lives in mine. Able to only recall the hours one year spent listening to music no one around has heard. They must have been lonely as well. Times when midnight and what came after was my only blanket, acquaintances unable to aid in my sleep. It was still too cold (I was more used to the heat of layers of clothes). My favorite was my reflection, who would try to test my boundaries by dragging me to her home, a world where endless chatter filled the would-be silence (which would be heard by my ears only). 

So, is it really such a surprise I would later be asking questions of regret. Regretting not looking past that there was no point, sitting next to my shadow instead of the living. I was the breaker of bones, and still (quite literally) am. Unwilling to leave the house or let others see me without what they never notice. See, I never thought I would be one to compare myself to others, but now I can feel the distance in knowledge and connections. Even the tortoise has caught up to me, thought at least we’re both watching as the sun sets in this race. ..Yes, I know that isn’t really what it is, it never was or will be. Tomorrow is a new day. 

It all feels so short-lived. However soon Tomorrow approaches, I still catch myself asking Yesterday, “what could I have done differently?” Could we have been friends, is it too late? Maybe not, but the difficulty makes it appear so. Perhaps this is the part of myself that is regressing. Viewing the world’s inhabitants with childish envy. As this sack of bones ages, seeing these friendships form between people, it starts to think. Wishing it could have gotten to know them better before departing, wondering naively how did this happen?

College will bring about new opportunities, but waiting’s an uneventful period that brings about annoyance. It isn’t so much the result of impatience, but the element of the unknown. Who knows what lies in those woods. If you try to venture into them without proper gear, you’re bound to get lost. I have ironically found myself lost when no one’s around but the voices of strangers. I can only begin to try comprehending the art of their semantics, never really knowing. I am so clueless. Is that so bad?