learning how to be alone used to come naturally to me. it really wasn’t a big deal. nobody would pick me out of a line up, and it wouldn’t hurt me. what people don’t tell you is that when people are lost, you have to learn to be alone all over again. if things are cut short, those half-formed hopes are crushed like sugar glass. this is the remix. this is the beginning of the end. nobody cares about what I say, what I write or what I do. they don’t like to admit it, but they don’t hold a candle for me like they do for other girls. my face has been blurred by spots of fluorescent light. men are mysteries in love. they keep their fondness close, and try to throw you out to sea with their shrewdness. all anyone tries to do is survive in this life we have been given. there is a pressure to be grateful, but that’s hard to do when you’re always torn down. for all the romance in sadness, a night of happiness comes by far too rarely. I will make it to the top, and I don’t care what happens when I get there. at least I’ll be able to say I made it.
Published by Courtenay's Corner
Courtenay S. Gray is a writer from the North of England. You’ll find her work in an array of journals such as A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Misery Tourism, Expat Press, Red Fez, and many more. She will often post on her blog: www.courtenayscorner.com Twitter: @courtenaywrites Instagram: @courtenaywrites View all posts by Courtenay's Corner