And I don't mean validate my existence by kissing that boy when I shouldn't, when I don't even like him, but I want to know that I am here. I don't mean validate my existence by sharing my opinions, which just serves to give me anxiety attacks, that make my heart feel like it's going to explode.
I mean I need to validate my existence through something that makes me feel like I'm more than just some girl who is too damn young and running out of time. And I am running out of time, because the longer I remain uncertain, the more looks I get and the more my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest.
But while my lungs are a mess and my heart is worse off, I think my brain's the most messed up out of all my body parts. And I mean really the most messed up, because despite my aching fingers and my sore ribs, and the burn in my thighs that makes me feel alive, my brain is still so confused about so many things and reprimands me too often for my sanity.
All I really want to do is kiss a boy with freckles and talk about the things deep in my soul that I won't feel safe about until they're settled. But maybe that's my problem. Maybe my soul is never going to be settled, because like my philosophy professor says, there's the soul and then there's the body and they're two very separate things.
Maybe my soul is just too separate from my body and has never really been connected at all.
I'm starting to think my soul isn't anywhere at all. It's not in my body, it's not in my words, it's not in my paint. It's in all those things. It's in the dents I leave in my favorite pen when I'm thinking too hard. It's in the smudges of ink on my fingertips when I've written too fast. It's in the kisses I left in his head that made him like me more than I've ever liked him.
I don't know if I'm proud of my soul. All I know is that I want to make it something I can be arrogant about.
Because what's better than a devastatingly beautiful soul?
