but who are you

I’ve been meaning to write for a long time. I like to write. The past months have been pleasant and dreadful all at the same time. I’ve been a procrastinator. I think I can change that. I feel as if I’m lost in the woods nonetheless I have a compass. Sometimes I feel like I’m in control but I know I’m not. My mind is cluttered with incompatible concepts, views, and emotions. I find myself having a difficult time identifying not only them but myself. I wish for clarity. I don’t want to be an immoral person. What is an immoral person? I think I may be ill, not the typical cough cough sniffle sniffle type of ill but maybe my mind is stagnating and ineffective. I overthink. I’m probably fine. Am I God attempting to get to know oneself? Is that a ballsy statement? I read that God had to separate from “it” to know “it.” All it knew is that “it was.” I read that everything is that separation attempting to learn what it is. Which would mean it’s not separated at all now wouldn’t it? I like to think I am an extension of God. I find relief in the idea of God getting to know itself more so than the idea of Allison getting to know herself. People say God is complicated. I don’t believe that to be true, or do I? Is it even really, “getting to know,” or is it just creating, expanding even. Maybe it’s just remembering. I like to write. I like to write but I fear if I were to leave my journal in a subway station the person who found it would contemplate if I’m off the deep end. There are no subway stations where I live. I like to think whoever found my journal would relate. I like to think we’re all a little bit lost in the woods. I have a compass. I like plants, I like that I like plants. I enjoy surrealism. I like holding hands and gently brushing my thumb over the other person’s. I like long walks; I like exchanging smiles with strangers while I walk. I like to write. I like the idea of vulnerability. I say idea for the reason that I fear it. I want to be vulnerable. I want to take a giant mallet and break down this wall I’ve built so monstrous that I can’t even see over it. I’ve been in love with the same man since I was 14. I need to be alone. He knows. Too many colors make be feel uncomfortable and I have an odd obsession with the number three. Three is the best number. Three is the best number. Three is the best number. I like to pretend I’m in a movie, sometimes I don’t want to be the main character. I pretend I’m in a movie unless of course I’m in a car at 3am heading away from city lights that resemble stars in my rear-view mirror while listening to dreamy music. Now I’m in a music video. The camera zooms in from the outside to the driver window as I look in the distance. One single raindrop trickle down. I like the smell of rain. I should be focused on the road. I should be focused. I have a compass. If I’m not in control then who or what is? They say you orchestrate your life, but maybe I’m just someone in the audience of the theater. Could I be the violinist? I think I could be the violin.