monsters.

So, this:

It’s true, isn’t it?
I stopped looking for monsters when my heart stopped.
Well, partially stopped.
I mean, it kept beating.
But it sounded more like Taps than anything else.
A slow dying dirge.
I stopped looking for monsters when I grew up.
Well, I grew up and became a child at once.
Suddenly my love was old, older than the the years I had spent here.
And tired, so tired.
I saw people, couples, hand-holding and laughing friends–and thought how sad it is that they are fleeting; I thought about how maybe they didn’t know it yet, but that yes, they are fleeting.
That everything is fleeting.
And that made me curl up in bed.
I’d look at dinner like it was a part of a culture that I no longer understood.
And I’d hide.
I’d run downstairs to my brother’s old bedroom.
And that’s when my pop found me.
And he crawled into bed next to me and told me that I’d be okay.
But that sounded crazy.
Not like the monsters inside of me.
They made sense when they told me I’d never be okay again.
They told me the logical next step was sadness and pain forever.
A life sentence, despite my innocence in the matter.
But pop disagreed.
And he wasn’t the only one.
And the thing is, I am different than I was.
But I don’t hate the changes anymore.
And I don’t agree with the monsters anymore.
Most of the time, anyway.
And maybe more importantly, I am not so afraid of them.