Six Earlier Days

Some days are like this. And the only way to get through them is to remember that they are only one day, and that every day ends.

It's the secret smile you get from knowing that, somewhere, there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you can say anything to her, whenever you need to. And she can do the same, whenever she needs to.

What i want is for what i want to actually matter.

Now they are struggling to find that balance-- separated but still inseparable, apart but still a part.

You said before that you were tired. Well, I’m tired, too. Tired of letting everything stay unsaid. We spend all our time together, and we do it because we want to, right? And I guess I think a lot about that, and about us. And about … well, more. Us having more. It’s not about lust or sex or whatever you want to call it. I mean, some of it is that. But mostly it’s about belonging. When I’m with you, I belong. It just naturally felt like that. And I think it felt like that for you. But I don’t know where that leaves us, or even what that is. I’m just tired of trying to figure it out myself. I need the other half of the equation.

Belonging. Togetherness. These words are as complicated and confusing as the word love. It’s probably all the same thing. Or it would be if we let it be. I can only guess from observation.

Your life is your life. You can't live it in compartments.Each place you're in has a door open at either end.

Once the storm comes out, the landscape changes. What you had before is altered in some way. And you have a choice: build something new and better from what is left or abandon it.

The running commentary, the loving support, the jokes and the observations and the random thoughts that are made a little less random when they’re shared. The desire to be heard is as deeply seeded as the desire to be loved.

The desire to be heard is as deeply seeded as the desire to be loved. For some people, it doesn't matter who's on the other end.

Human beings act very much like storms when there's something to say. Very rarely in nature does a deluge catch you by complete surprise. There are the signs before--the sky darkening, the wind picking up, the air smelling like rain even before a drop has hit.

...one thing has always been consistent: Everyone wakes up tired. In truth, most of us go through the day tired, as if all of the information swirling through the air, all of the thoughts battling within our mind, leave us in a state of perpetual exhaustion. I don't know if it was always like this, but I'm pretty sure it's more like this now.

Some days I'm only passing through. Some days are all hello; some days are all goodbye. Some days I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, and other days it's abundantly clear, as if the person I am for a day has left me a note, left me instructions. Today I am meant to maintain the golden tether between two people. It doesn't take much strength to hold on to my end. It's good to hold on to something, to feel the pull of another person on the other end, to feel the attachment before I must let go and pass the golden tether back into the person who should really be here instead of me.

I try to get the basic facts, not the details. The details can be interesting, but they can also distract me into attachment. The worst thing in the world would be to pretend to know the people whose lives I step through. They cannot be homes to me. They must be hotel rooms.

When one of my teammates botches a shot, the coach tells him to stop being a girl. I wish I could tell him that I was a girl two days ago, and two days before that. Nothing is different. A shot is a shot.

It's the secret smile you get from knowing that,somewhere,there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you say anything to her,whenever you need to. And she can do the same,whenever she needs to. Most of the time this is not necessary. But the secret smile comes from knowing it's available,even when she's half a world away.

When I’m with you, I belong. It just naturally felt like that.

I access our history and get the usual muddle of love and competition that any two sisters share.

I know I am lying to myself, but I also choose to believe it.

The worst thing in the world would be to pretend to know the people whose lives I step through. They cannot be home to me. They must be hotel rooms.

The only thing I am allowed, the only thing I am given, is myself. It is enough, but only barely.

To swim is to transform yourself into an unnatural creature, to take on an element that should not be your own. To swim is to experience the world differently, or to experience a different world temporarily.

We're going to have to play pretend," Sam says. He has no idea how good I am at playing pretend. But I guess that's a different kind of pretend, a pretend that can't be obvious. Here we revel in the pretend, laugh at it, become children within it. We walk rings around the carousel horses, trying to find our perfect steeds. We dangle at the bottom of the Ferris wheel and pretend that it is taking us up, up, up. I allow myself to relax. I allow myself to enjoy it. I even get lost in it.

I have been in the bodies of people who I suspect would give almost anything to have this body, to be this person. I'd be more hesitant, if I had a choice. Because over the years I have become wary of tinkering with nature in this way. A body like this is rarely natural. A body like this must be created and maintained. And when you give so much energy to the body, there ends up being very little energy for much else, at least when you are sixteen and just starting to form it. Perhaps if I could feel the satisfaction and admiration as my own, I would feel differently.

I feel more like myself than I usually do because as I swim, I don’t need to fully exist.

I study the people in the class, in a somewhat dreamy math-soundtracked daze.