I wish on stars that are bright, unshooting. I have wished all this time that you would be happy. Would.. like it were a decision you need make. I am sorry you are unhappy, and blame your mother.
Rarely do I blame myself for much.
It is Christmas Eve, and all have gone to bed. It is raining, monsoonal, all over the state, highways cut off and earth hopelessly saturated.. suckingly marshy, pouring and drowning, there is nowhere for anymore water to go. The rain sounds like the static of life, the frogs are croaking in a rhythmic chorus that would be terrifying if I thought it were not but frogs.
When I go to bed it takes me a long time to get to sleep because I am afraid there are snakes and spiders in my room. The spiders I am sure of; I periodically switch my lamp to see if they’ve moved position on the walls. Last night, the fan blasting above me, I felt something move on my head. Panicked! I switched on the light and in the mirror opposite my bed blearily-eyed spied spindly-limbed movement amongst my hair. I batted it terrifiedly away before I realised it was my hair, blown by the fan.
The death adders and taipans I have only heard tales of: curled in my closet, lying in wait outside my door.. two in recent weeks. Lila, the behemoth dog, often noses my sliding door open and lazily fails to shut it behind her. my door opens straight onto gardens I imagine are teeming with snakes… surely any of them would prefer my cozywarm bed to the gushing pouring flooding..
On that note, goodnight.