I look back at a video made from a dance project I was involved in and wonder about myself. I wonder why I look back and feel like I was nice to the point of letting people step all over me. Why didn’t I stick up for myself more? Why didn’t I demand anything? Although I am proud of some things, there’s a certain light I can’t help but look at things with, and it shines over the truth like a wave of heat creeping in, gliding down my throat, washing through my bones. I remember the feelings I had in 12th grade so vividly. And I wonder why I wasn’t doing anything to stop them. I felt so helplessly depressed. But sometimes it seems I often achieve that feeling. Helplessly sad and vulnerable. Like a shivering animal or a pouting child.
I was discussing some matters with a friend today and he asked me if I ever feel like a child in regards to my anguish. Yes. Exactly. I feel like a child. Frightened and unsure.
I’m tired of it.
I need to grow up.

And I need to stop wandering the streets like I’m looking for someone. Because the person I’m looking for won’t be found by accidentally running into them. I will have to hunt.