sometimes i don’t know why i do the things i do. i collect unfinished things and sometimes that scares me. i use these words to tie knots around the moments i’ve cut into quarters — hoping i could give a piece to you but keep some pieces for me. and that way after you’ve tossed them or forgot them or lost them i can still hold on for a little while longer. this is a sad game to play, to try and run away but your pockets are full of all the things you keep meaning to leave behind. and if i surrender, the feelings never will. what am i doing here? what are any of us doing here? i know a lot of people who think that when we die we’ll turn to dirt. i’m not afraid to die. i’m afraid that one day i’ll leave the world but the world won’t leave me. so i try to make things with my hands because it allows me the relief of feeling a little bit less useless. i try to listen when someone is speaking because this is a very loud place sometimes and it’s hard to find your voice in the noise. i try to say things whether there’s someone there to hear it or not because i have feelings and thoughts and i refuse to succumb to weakness or fear and let it get lost. i’m brave enough to tell you that i’m not all that i can be, and i’m scared enough to know that maybe the rest of the world would like me better if i tried to hide these sloppy parts of me. i try to be kind because everyone’s a lot more delicate than they’d like to admit — and we’ve all got something burning up beneath us. i tell myself that there are things worth believing in, things worth not giving up on, people worth hearing even if their stories are a little broken. and if my sum is more than my parts then i have to believe that this burning is worth it. i have to believe that our voices are important. i have to believe that even when i find myself so fed up with all of the callous people here - i know, i can’t help but know, that we are all fighting something that has the upper hand. and i’m on your side. i’m one of you. we’re in this together, okay.