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inertia

i’ve figured out that there are exactly ten steps in my regular pacing route in my bedroom. the carpet is slightly flatter in this part of my room, the scar of a million replications of the same foot print. i pace when i talk on the phone, when i listen to music, and when i think too much. i like the feeling of moving through things. my footsteps, they’re my control over every moment’s universe.


i think my biggest flaw is my impatience. i don’t know where i learned that forward is the only direction that’s worthwhile. i don’t think i stay anywhere for too long - my fear of overstaying my welcome far outweighs my comfort. i cut all of my hair off when i was 15 so i’d be able to get a haircut every month. i’d rather let go of things before they let go of me.


the first time i asked my girlfriend out, we walked for at least four miles. her ginger hair bouncing with every step, we talked about everything we could think of. we didn’t dote on anything, we talked through the world and back around it again. we still do that, three years later. we hold onto each other because we race through the rest of our two worlds. we want someone to be there at the finish line, even if we leave everyone else behind us without noticing. she cut all of her hair off a year ago. we go to the barber shop together, every month.


but in these ten steps of carpet in my childhood bedroom, i’ve lived a lifetime. every step is both a brand new one and the same one i took 5 years ago. everything outside of this room has seemed to stop, without my consent. i can’t help but wonder: is this what i’ve been walking toward this whole time?

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