It’s not being able to get all the way to the end of a movie. It’s getting bored and disengaging before the credits roll in favor of taking an adventure or cooking Mexican food instead.
Sometimes it’s not being able to pick a drink at the bar; are you feeling liquor, or just a beer? Do you really want another margarita or do you feel like being adventurous today?
Sometimes it’s trying on shirt after shirt after shirt only to settle on one and then change your clothes again by noon
It’s looking into the disappointed eyes of the man who tried his hardest to love you but wasn’t able to overcome whatever massive road block you presented him with this time.
Sometimes it’s wanting tattoos upon tattoos and having only one because if you can’t even decide what to have for dinner tonight, how can you be trusted to ink something onto your skin?
It’s crying and begging and pleading with yourself to get over whatever sort of internalized issues are holding you back. It’s sitting in a dark room psychoanalyzing yourself over and over and over and leaving with no more of an inkling as to what exactly your fucking problem is than you started with.
Sometimes it’s switching your major five times and finally being told that you’ve got to commit or you’ll never graduate on time and to be honest, can you really afford more student loans?
Sometimes it’s uttering that dreaded phrase “it’s not you it’s me” once again, knowing how utterly cliché and fucking idiotic you sound but really not knowing any other way to describe what you’re feeling inside.
Picking a selfie? Forget about it.
Fighter or lover? Guess we’ll never know.
And thank the sweet Lord in heaven that you’ll never be able to settle down because deciding on wedding colors and a dress might induce a full-fledged meltdown.
Sometimes it’s repainting and moving the furniture and maybe this frame would actually look better here or here or here or in the first place it started anyway.
Sometimes it’s meeting the greatest guy and not accepting his invitation for a second date because you know there’s no fucking point anyway.
It’s swearing up and down to yourself that it will be different this time around, that you will get your shit together, that you will not ruin yet another good thing in your life because you can’t hold onto anything if your life depended on it.
Sometimes it’s looking at your grandparents’ 59 years of marriage and feeling just the smallest twinge of regret because you know deep down you’ll never be able to bring yourself to have that.
Sometimes it’s telling that fucking bullshit mantra inside of you run run run run run run run run to kindly shut the fuck up and wanting to scream over it run run run and locking your lips just a little bit tighter so no one will know how out of your fucking mind you really are.
It’s creating a warning label for yourself that reads “more trouble than it’s worth” and “not the girl you marry” and “parents don’t like me”.
Sometimes it’s wanting to die one day and being grateful for every ray of sunshine the next. It’s the identity crisis you have every single day when you can’t decide if you’re strong and empowered or a sobbing mess on the floor.
Sometimes it’s the choice between chopping all your hair off or dying the whole long length of it black.
It’s the mess you make one day when you just want to screw the order of things and live, and it’s the irritation you feel the next day when you ask yourself why you couldn’t just leave well enough alone.
Sometimes it’s all the feelings you’ve ever had, and sometimes it’s none of them at all.
It’s being a walking sack of contradictions and full-well understanding there is nothing on God’s green earth you can do about it.
Sometimes it’s wanting to love and be loved, and sometimes it’s owning the fact that you’ll likely always be alone because you don’t know how to really be any other way.
It’s to be or not to be, or have you already been everything you’ll ever be?