Late last night, I crawled out of the attic window and onto the slanted edge of the roof. The wind was persistent, stong gusts tugging at my center of gravity, pushing my hair out of my face.

It was cold up there, but I couldn’t feel it. I could only feel the wind.

From there, lying down on the roof, looking up – I can watch the sky. Not just the stars, but the clouds that drift across them, the moonlight, and the swirling of the shadows.

The roof, beneath me, is comfortably solid. And the wind in my hair is a magic that’s hard to describe.

Those two sensations, in tandem – the freedom and the safety, the comfort and the thrill… it’s a rare thing, to strike that balance. And it’s beautiful, when it happens.

I have no idea how long I was out there, letting myself be rocked in the cradle of the sky.

The timelessness was broken when my cat poked her nose out of the window, anxiously, wondering what I was doing, wondering if everything was alright. I noticed that I’d gotten stiff, got up, and ducked inside.

I’m not afraid to be alone; not anymore. But I’m so glad that she is with me.

I hope it’s a good night.

I wish I didn’t have to tell you about what kind of person I am.

I wish you already knew, and had always known, and I wish I knew that you knew, without us ever having to talk about it.

God, I wish we could talk about it.

I wish I’d told you a long time ago. I wish that I’d known, then.

I wish that you’d known me for years and years and already had a connection to me before I decided to tell you when I was ready.

I wish your uneasy first impressions of me didn’t have to define the dynamic between us for days and months and lifetimes.

I wish I could have that, without having to put on a mask.

I wish you hadn’t shoved me into a box before you knew anything about me.

I wish y’all would stop telling me that I’m not quite enough like the rest of you, and that I don’t truly belong;

I wish I didn’t have to seek out a place to belong everywhere that I go.

I wish to not be compared to somebody else, defined relative to somebody else, in every moment of my life that is shared with other people.

I wish I didn’t always have to be wondering if this part of me is real.

I wish this part of who I am was not a thing that mattered.

I wish you knew how beautiful it is for this to be something that matters to me.

I wish, so much, that I could tell you who I am. I wish that it wouldn’t change anything.

I wish you could just see me.

💜

I hope it’s a good night.

I have a powerful imagination.

inside my head,

I know what’s going to happen before it happens.

I know how another person is going to respond to the things I do and say, before I do or say anything.

I know what other people are thinking and feeling, even if they never tell me… in body language or in stories or in words.

It feels so real, inside my head…

It seems so real that unless I am careful, I don’t even wonder if I might be wrong about things.

I am so sure of myself that I don’t even bother to ask you how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. I don’t give you a chance to speak for yourself, and so I never have a chance to hear what you would say.

And this would be fine if I actually knew what you were thinking, but I don’t.

Not everybody thinks in the same way that I do, and so unless I listen to the way that you think, I am always going to be missing something.

Since I already know what’s going to happen, and I know it isn’t going to end well, I’ll just… bend space and time and matter around me to make damn sure that a sad future never comes true.

And this would be fine, too, if I could actually see into the future. That would be fucking useful.

Except that I can’t. I can’t know what is going to happen before it does.

I am usually wrong about things, even and especially when they make perfect sense inside my head. The inside of my head is hilariously devoid of context. My perceptions are distorted, and they’re always going to be.

I can’t know what is going to happen before it does.

I know this. Because even when I put everything I have into the abortion of sad endings, they usually happen anyway… even if they don’t happen in the way I expect. Sometimes one sad ending happens precisely because I was trying to stop a different one from coming true.

And so… I cannot read your mind, I cannot predict the future and I cannot predict how you are going to respond to the things I do and say.

And so I missing something, I am always missing something, unless I am able to bring myself to talk to other people. And that’s hard for me to do.

I am learning that I’m not a telepathic precog, but I am learning that the hard way.

For fuck’s sake, stay true to yourself and don’t pretend to be somebody else, because otherwise what is the point.

For fuck’s sake, don’t lie and pretend like you don’t care for somebody when you do. If you lie well enough, there’s a chance they might actually believe you.

And for fuck’s sake, kid, give the people around you a little credit. Let them surprise you with their kindness, especially when you don’t see it coming.

Listen to that feeling, the one that isn’t sure that you’re right to be worried. Listen well. And then go looking for those answers, when you’re ready.

There is so much potential for joy, and laughter, and understanding, and love. And it’s worth the risk of a sad ending to imagine that they might be there, even when you can’t see them.

It’s a Tuesday in September and I hope it’s a good stretch of time.

It’s September.

Go outside. Practice getting too hot, too cold, covered in sweat and bugbites and mud and rain and dust.

Lay down on floor *as much as possible.*

Look up at the stars. Connect the tiny points of light with imaginary lines.

Cook with rice, corn, black beans, avacado, cheeeese. Hot sauce is especially important.

Every night, read a book until you fall asleep and drop it on your face.

As you read the things you have to read for school, write questions all over the pages.

The answers you find on the internet will probably not be as interesting as the insights that are already there in your head. Go looking for those when you can.

Notice when things are objectively absurd, and find the humor that exists there.

Write because you have something to say.

The things you have to say might become more interesting if you spend more of your time listening.

Put your blankets outside in the sun, when it isn’t raining. They will smell nicer.

Give yourself a break from whatever hurts the most. Set it down, even for just a moment. It’ll still be there when you come back.

Drink enought water.

Have a good night.