Light is Like Water

I was told recently that I tend to overuse such big words as “Depression” and “Love” and I like to fool myself into thinking I’m experiencing either. And it was such a good argument that I believed it so I tried to rid myself of both. I think it was in a dizzying whiff of graduation air or during an early morning suicidal drive that I realized how incredibly wrong they were.

I am depressed. And I am in love. I don’t care how recklessly juvenile it sounds.

In love because I remembered why I started this journal in the first place. I remembered the musicals and skipping to class. And how every word of every sentence of every entry was somehow about her.

Depressed because I can never contend with anything that beats inside her chest. Depressed because I want to disappear someplace where I don’t have to think of her. Depressed because it is impossible and because it wouldn’t make a difference.

Depressed because from all the hugs I got last night, hers was the only one that felt like it was going to be the last.