All the luck in the universe. (And I can hardly say I, but it’s okay)

Jessica Ceballos
Jan 9, 2016 · 2 min read
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Pulling the car over, it’s hard to see through all of this. All of these. Tears. Probably a bucket for each of the 38 years I’ve been alive. They won’t all come rushing down, or up, or sideways, at the same time. It’s just five minutes worth, for now. It’s enough for all of the reminders.

To know what it’s like to want to pull the skin off of your body because maybe that would make more sense than living in it, but slowly because you’re never sure of anything, by the time you reach the folds of your torso you may change your mind and choose the tougher way out.

To know what it’s like to say goodbye to not trying hard enough, removing yourself from the worst case scenario, to walk head on into… yourself, one day ripping apart at a time. Slowly, because they say losing weight too fast isn’t healthy, and putting the weight back on two-fold will most certainly kill you quicker than it takes you to change your mind, about anything.

To know what it’s like to fall in love after after the divorce, quickly. Crushing. And to fall out of it at roughly the same degree. Crashing. And remembering that this is what it’s like… to live. And you’ve finally done the homework…right and/or wrong, it’s done. You know this because everything hurts, differently. Crying isn’t confusing, it’s only sadness. And yes, to be able to say that word, divorce. And to know what it’s like to sleep at night.

And to know what it’s like for your body to feel, again. After. Much after. (Time is irrelevant). And to respond, not again. This is entirely new. The young version of you was never allowed to respond; to say thank you, to say yes with a smile, or silence. To be. To sit, in silence. To sit, still.

And to know what it’s like to have the luck. All the luck… in this fucked up kind of world. For luck to find you. A needle in the mess of burnt sticks that are never good enough for a fire. This is the world we should try to live in longer than the world in which we walk from, run through the edges of. To be able to see all of these worlds, from where you stand. From where these feet stand.

I’d like to carry you through your world to this world — neighbors, or something similar, not too far away. But that isn’t the way to here. The I. First, small kisses to the foreheads of your body. Then you have to feel your skin coming off. Slowly.

A Different Perspective

Personal essay, memoir, photography, poetry, humor — what’s…

Jessica Ceballos

Written by

writer:publisher:curator:designer:advocate:tenants’ rights activist www.jessicaceballos.com — “The owls are not what they seem.”

A Different Perspective

Personal essay, memoir, photography, poetry, humor — what’s going on in your community? What’s the world like where you are? I don’t request stories — or edit them! — but am happy to consider your piece. @JustThinkingNow or annaherrington2@gmail.com

Jessica Ceballos

Written by

writer:publisher:curator:designer:advocate:tenants’ rights activist www.jessicaceballos.com — “The owls are not what they seem.”

A Different Perspective

Personal essay, memoir, photography, poetry, humor — what’s going on in your community? What’s the world like where you are? I don’t request stories — or edit them! — but am happy to consider your piece. @JustThinkingNow or annaherrington2@gmail.com

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