“Wouldn’t it be great it mattresses had spaces for your arm, so that when you rolled onto your side, you could fit just right?”
“That would be nice.”
“And good for your back, probably, because it would let your spine be straight, which I know is important.”
“That is important.”
“Also, it would make snuggling easier. You know how that arm constantly gets in the way?”
“And making snuggling easier is important.”
“Very.”” —Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
Doing this and that, just keeping my mind busy. My mind is numb and my feet are asleep. The beads of sweat are beginning to blend in with the tears racing down my cheeks and my fingers are rubbing shapes underneath my eyes. I’m pinching my arms to wake myself up from this dull dream, but I’m not asleep. I’m just staring into the distance and all I can feel are hunger pangs, but I feel nothing for anyone and I feel nothing for myself. I keep trying to sing, but my voice keeps trailing off. I long to walk barefoot for miles and miles up the Rio Grande, skipping stones and humming to myself without a care in the world. I felt independent and warm. My days consisted of laughing and learning and never wanting to leave where I was. Every time I return, I feel even more lost in a place whose map I could trace on the back of my hand by memory. I can’t wait to scrape up just enough money to leave again, come back, and repeat.