in gratitude to my failure

It's 3:44 in the morning.

It's hard to believe that it's been over four months since I Fell Apart, since every plan I made fell through and I found myself incapable of doing what I had told everyone I would do. I came to the point of letting go. I was going to leave Seattle. I didn't. I was going to start a life in the Real World, with a job and responsibilities. I couldn't.

I stayed. I stopped. I lay still.

And now, all I can do is remember all the times in these past few months where I have been flabbergasted by the people who surround me, sometimes people I've known since the beginning of college, but I'm just now starting to know them. Or people I'm just starting to befriend now, and I should have done so years ago.
And why has it taken me so damn long?

Something happened when I graduated. I stopped fearing being honest. I gave up on maintaining appearances. And mostly, I've had to learn to be honest and to give up image-control with...myself.
In high school, I used to make lists of things I wanted to do. In college, I started making lists of what I wanted to be.
Now, I've stopped writing lists at all.

Because there's no one to impress anymore. There's nothing to distract me from facing myself. There's no place to run. There's nothing to chase.

In the stillness and the darkness, when all things cease and there is nothing urgent to do, when there is only time and no restrictions on how to use it, Truth starts seeping up from the ground. If you just stay still, low to the earth, it fills your hand.