It Comes to Me Now

January 18, 2018

To realize that I am as small as nothing, as inconsequential, as unimportant, and as close to zero as I can possible get compared to the size of the universe is usually beyond the depths of my imagination
But I have felt it, in the past
When I was locked outside my daycare, screaming at the tops of my lungs from the playground, breaking down in the mulch, I felt the silent sky envelope my toddler heart
And later, when we packed up and traipsed north hundreds of miles, and I was surrounded from all four corners by unfamiliarity, I felt alone and crumpled up like a wad of discarded paper
When my sister playfully trapped me in our laundry room, I felt the darkness suffocate and plunder my will
When I lost friends for the first time and we became strangers, I once again felt that piercing loneliness
Then things changed
I began to pour over my looks and body and grades, and instead I felt as if I inflated, my problems becoming big and encapsulating and all that I could see
I've forgotten how it feels to be tinier than an atom is to Earth
To feel powerless
As if the good inside can never beat the bad from outside
But I remember it now with a startling clarity
Folded up against the car window, squinting at the ebony kissed sky, trying to discern any glimmer of stars behind the harsh street lights
Hearing their words replay in my mind like a broken record stuck on a song I hate
I feel the weight of my insignificance, and it's like greeting an old friend

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