leave the party
I’ve never been that good at leaving.
I’m not afraid of overstaying when the party’s over.
it’s funny because sometimes I feel like I’m afraid of everything in the world that I could possibly be afraid of (even the most ridiculous things).
but this one thing? I have no fear, my anxiety disappears.
in fact, I don’t mind overstaying when the party’s over. not one bit.
I could clean the dishes, I could throw out the trash. I could pick up all the random mugs and glasses in which we poured different liquors and concoctions. I could play a slow song and sway in your kitchen, lowering the volume because the sudden silence is deafening. I could accidentally interrupt a moment looking for something in the living room, the eternal seconds before their first kiss. I’ll struggle to close the bedroom door. it just never worked and now I’m three sheets to the wind, so now it’s never going to happen. it will close but will open again, like a spring that coming back to its original shape. it also squeaks. girl, give it up.
but I won’t.
I never do.
I could stay when you don’t want me there. when you’re trying to get over a hungover and don’t wanna socialize. when you’re racking your brain for polite ways to tell me to leave your flat and move on with the day.
I could stay when I don’t like it anymore but still, we’re already here, aren’t we? and I do love you. when all my friends know what the next message will be. I won’t leave until I’ve paid my debt.
all the books you lent me once are unionising. they’re accumulating dust and they’re bored of my routine and my excuses. they don’t like their temporary home: my uneven shelves, my busy desk, the whole mess. they whisper amongst themselves that I’ve changed. but I think I’m still me. headstrong. unable of admiting defeat even when it’s obvious I’m wrong. unable of leaving without a good enough reason.
I don’t mind staying too long at the fair. of “outgrowing” something and still staying there, rooted in time and space. is outgrowing even a real thing? can I outgrow things that I’m still carrying? I bet they’re also growing alongside me. they’re not the same pebbles I picked up years ago because nothing can really stay in place.
can I grow slower? can we slow down? what’s making the wheel turn? can I stop it and get off?
I’m drifting but I’m tethered in place, like a boat that drifts slowly with its anchor in the sand but never leaves the marina.
I’m not afraid of overstaying my welcome, of staying once the party is more than over (but maybe I should be).