The diagnosis comes back on a small slip of paper, on a whiff of wind headed from higher mountains to lower valleys than I can claim. A single word mars the jagged white flag: Normal.
Where two roads diverge in a shadowed brain, take whichever road points shameward, toward brambles thirstier for fresh blood and flawed erasures.
When an average face on the Internet says to stop being negative, remember that face is talking straight through you to the average ravaged beauties standing on the other side.
What comes on the in-breath is candy, a new guest with suitcases full of wanderers’ scarves that ruffle and spice history. But what leaves in the morning is sweeter still, because you can’t have it. Suitcases stuffed with your cotton t-shirts, the guest retracts its welcome, and its forgetfulness sticks to your teeth.
You are a virtuoso wandering in the parking lot that is your mind, and you will never matter because Paradise got chopped down eons ago to leave space for people’s garages on wheels, fat with emotional baggage from last year’s Four Seasons. Pavement is lost to other flowers that know to grow; Eve came too late to your hands when Adam’s lover had already sprinkled the sky with sunset jewels.
You may be special, but that is the expected outcome, and it means you are the exact same kind of special as 99.99% of people – we call the phenomenon Normal.
Be glad for what you are not, and stuff it now.
Image credits in order of appearance:
By yumikrum (escaping the dome) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
By Tecnowey – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25443289