ladybug

i miss it all

i miss writing… i miss the heavy subdued feeling that pushes me to write and draw and make trickling thoughts into things of near-tangibility. i also miss the applause. i used to be a little brilliant i think? now i’m just a bit strange and my words are raspy. i wonder if it’s time i mourn it instead of trying to welcome it back. i miss what the nothingness used to mean… now it’s become merely what it is.

like when i look at the moon now, i think she’s beautiful. i might even feel slight awe about how her splotches and bruises show from this vast a distance. and that’s all i got. i used to have silly, sober observations that glide up so slickly and shift my whole life a little… like that one night: an accidental glance at the crescent moon and i immediately understood that she is still and always full. she is only halved and waning because our earthly optics can’t contain her wholeness. life used to be a little magical… life was soldered to an ache i could soothe or lean into. that ache is now dull and sweet. life is simpler. i think i’m happier. but i miss it all.

below is an unrelated diary snippet about ladybugs + my shame which is like a 23-year-old piece of gum stuck to my every surface and sole

<3, priyaa