My teeth hurt. It’s like my body is reprimanding me for forgetting all the lessons I learnt this year. You’re not supposed to travel back to ignorance once you’re been wise, Alexia. But they hurt, they do, and I just sit here and wonder why.
Because this is what I do. I like question words and hurtling towards answers, and then, because I’m bored or stupid or just in good old-fashioned in denial, I forget, and off I go again, seeking other answers, the same answers, as if I want to be on this road, constantly travelling, never actually reaching any real destination. But it happens anyway, eventually I get somewhere. Every now and then I figure something out and the answer sticks to me, not with velcro or scotch tape, but by seeping into my skin so I can’t forget; there is no emotional surgery for some things.
This is what I do. I think myself into dust. I think so hard that nothing means anything any more. By doing this, something means something all the time, and I am not a pale blue dot bobbing along in the universe. I think so much because it makes me feel real. The again, I think so much that I loop around myself until I am nothing but a ball of knots. It gets to the point where I cannot untie myself and I worry that maybe I am becoming a labyrinth I won’t be able to get out of. I don’t want to need someone with a map or even a god damn flashlight to get me out. I have my own white horse, many of them, on display in the dirty stables of my mouth but if I keep running away into the sunset by myself, one day I’m going to turn around and realise that I missed the fucking dawn, that it’s the end of the day and I’m all alone just because I insisted on saving myself. Or, worse, realising that I never needed saving. That the only saving I needed was from the very idea that I wasn’t enough to do it myself all along.