I hate “The spirit of the staircase” or since we all love Paris now, l’esprit de l’escalier.
“Much of my life has been devoted to trying not to cry in front of people who loved me, so I knew what Augustus was doing. You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a Sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.” -John Green, A Fault In Our Stars.
I want to walk up the staircase having the last word. I’m always thinking I will be able to say it. I’ll begin to finally pronounce what I've rehearsed in my notebook. But then I decide what I say may hurt them, and I’m trying to lower the number of feelings I could potentially damage. This doesn't leave much room for satisfaction, but I redirect my sentence into something pleasing regardless. BUT ALAS! This labyrinth has contained me far too long. So I get to hide behind this monitor and shout why his hands suffocate me and why I want to be Grace Kelly.
I get nervous on airplanes. I don’t like watching the people, cars, and squares of houses get smaller. I really like breakfast except I’m always running behind to enjoyably eat it. When I get to heaven (presumably), I want to meet the wives of every president and whoever invented those shower heads where you can change the nozzle setting. Ziploc bags smell really good to me. I've never dreamt of Edward Cullen and that’s odd because he consumes my thoughts regularly. And my mom is bad at grocery shopping.