This morning I awoke to the silence just before the sunrise. Letting the moment seep into my numb I felt my fingers begin to explore the meaning of recalled movement once again. Breathing deeply I shut my eyes tightly just to feel the tension; savoring the shock of bright pressure under my eyelids. The very dawning of the day seemed to sweetly sing the melancholy melody of missing you. The tone was set.
Six hours and four outfits later I'm finding myself still absently tugging at what should have been the answer to my overly self-aware discomfort. No matter what outfit I choose to try and solve the problem in my mind I am left feeling bereft and unlovely. What is it about today that finds me as an alien in my own skin? Nothing seems to feel like it fits even as it hangs so perfectly on my despondent frame. It's as if the ache that holds my heart is attempting to dress me up in what memory recalls to be your favorite gray shirt and the faded jeans you loved me in, but you're not here to tell me that they're not really what makes me lovely. So I'm found wanting.
I don't know this person I've been so deftly impersonating. I don't recognize this edge of reason that I'm living on. I'm just not usually this nonsensical.
But here I am... changing my outfit four times in one day; just trying to be more than okay. Feeling like a stranger in my skin.
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