Hot to the Touch

It hurts to feel how beautiful the sunrise is. To look around and see birds who were waiting for the same thing. To notice the shift of the breeze’s temperature. To watch light glimmer across the surface of the water. To hear the nothingness. And the everything. The gravity of it all. To stare desperately into the sky trying to understand how the clouds and colors only change when I look away. I don’t want to miss a second. 

It hurts to feel good. To look around and see that earth is actually magnificent and stunning and magical and real. It hurts that I love watching the sunrise most when I’m alone. It hurts that part of me still yearns for company, holding onto some dream of a character who I would actually want to be there with me. Who would add to my experience rather than take away from it. Who would deepen the sanctity of this precious ritual.

It hurts how much I love to be alone. To loop a new favorite song on repeat and imagine a voice saying, “I can’t believe you’re listening to this awful music again.” To wash away the voices and empower myself to nod and speak out loud, proudly to myself, “I’m so glad I live alone.” And to keep doing whatever it is I want to do by myself and to feel free. 

It hurts how much I wish I wasn’t like this. I could write pages and pages and books and libraries full of my thoughts. The data I’ve collected. My observations on human life. My intricate analyses on why things are happening and my strenuous efforts to find solutions. 

It hurts how much I want to fix things. Beyond my thoughts, and beyond the capacity of what I now know to be a wise, capable, competent human brain, I also have feelings. Feelings hurt. There are less pages in my journals about those. Feelings are often delayed for me. Language always falls short. 

Have you ever seen a feelings wheel? That horrific therapy tool that categorizes emotion words so you can find the ‘right’ one to describe your experience? I often find that the experience of reviewing this tool – despite my adoration of charts and graphs – funnels me into one feeling word: disgust. And that’s not quite an emotion. It’s a bodily response, a visceral reaction to this preposterous notion that a single word in a single language that I happen to be fluent in could possibly touch the truth. 

The truth hurts. Lizzo said it, and I said it again. My body hurts. My heart hurts. My senses hurt. Whether it be a beautiful sunrise, a catchy song with gorgeous lyrics, a particularly delicious snack at a hungry moment, an incredibly foul odor like the stench of an overflowing dumpster outside a restaurant in a crowded parking lot alley on a scorching summer day, or a lasting impression of someone’s face who can experience strong emotions. I am so jealous of those people. So disturbed by them. So inspired by them. So scared of them. 

It hurts to see people’s faces. Especially when they are upset. Especially when we make eye contact. To add yet another unbearable amount of energy in visual form to my already infinite catalog of mental images that haunt me. Faces haunt me every day. I’m scared of what I did to turn their expressions that way. I’m scared of what they want from me. I’m scared of knowing that I will remember their faces forever. 

Scared is a feeling I’m used to. It’s kind of like a gasoline. When I am afraid, I have motivation to work on myself that much harder. To cope the hell out of life. To decidedly speak to myself better than people have spoken to me. To replace the lies that pour into my head every time I make a mistake. 

It hurts when I don’t feel scared. If I’m not scared enough, I might miss something. I might repeat one of those big mistakes I’ve made before. 

It hurts to feel how beautiful the sunrise is. All at once, my senses are soothed and activated. It is slow and urgent at the same time. My heart lightens and sinks. My thoughts clear and flood. I want my eyes to be open and closed. I want to hear everything. I don’t want to hear anything. 

1/2/2025