conch

 just woke up from a nap I did not intend to take. it's warm today, and sunny, which I'm glad for. I've been home for a couple of hours now after a trip to my parents' house, where I spent the night for the first time in a long time. it felt weird, and reminded me of one of my poems, which I'll share with you now.


like slipping into old, familiar clothes
comfortable,
but not flattering.


it was originally about something much different. I wrote it to describe the way it feels to slip backwards after making progress against a bad habit. the bad habit in this case is being a bitch to my brother, who I have complicated feelings toward. he had an episode, so to speak, and I became very angry, yet secretly pleased because I knew that I had a valid reason to feel this anger, and I would milk it for every drop of justification it would give me. so after months of being less cold and more friendly, I returned to the old ways of leaving a room just because he walked in, pretending not to understand anything he said, and refusing to offer him any kindness or help in any situation.
  it didn't really feel good; it felt wrong, if anything, but I didn't make myself stop. the attitude was easy, and it was what I knew, so it was what I did.
  but in this new light, it refers to a return to what was once home, finding your old routines and patterns oh so easy to slip back into, and knowing deep down that you can only visit. never stay.