v u l v a l i c i o u s
apologia, not apology
The other night I dreamt that I unleashed a plague on my corner of the world. There were bugs boiling through my ears, so real it almost woke me up. I hadn't been safe from the beginning: I had only survived the first attack because I was buried under snow--I had fallen asleep outside, and the snow made me a part of the forest.
In my waking life, I'm trying to take up space. I want to stop apologizing for my existence, stop saying I'm sorry when I'm standing where someone else wants to be.
Sorry backs away, regrets, wants not to be noticed.
I regret that I took up the space you wanted to use to get there. Please forgive me; it was wrong for me to stand here as you tried to push past me. How sad that I couldn't erase myself altogether. I'm sorry.
I have to stop. It feels like the world is bubbling inside me. Apologizing only makes me angrier.