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maze women 2023: belonging

1st person pov, brenda journals about teresa (sfw, 1k) @themazewomen

God, this is stupid. I haven’t written in a journal since I was…what, 11?

A few months ago I found one that had fallen behind my desk drawer. I was so angsty back then, it was ridiculous. I really didn’t have anything to be upset about. I didn’t know how good I had it.

I never kept my old journals long enough to look back on. Any time I tried, I would feel so ashamed and embarrassed of my older self that I would immediately shred it into as many pieces as possible, and then burn it. The cycle went on for years until I eventually stopped journaling altogether. 

I guess I ended up pivoting to songwriting, but that’s never felt quite the same. I still have to focus on getting the words to rhyme, get them to match with the music in the right way.

I always hoped I would be able to write a song about her to tell her everything I feel. But I’ve never managed.

So here I am, journaling again in my 20’s. To what end, I don’t know. I guess I thought that the feelings I had been shoving down into the pits of my stomach started to burn in the acidity and go rotten. I’ve been spitting the poison back up at people, and they’re starting to notice. Her, most of all.

She thinks I hate her. Or that I’m mad at her. She hasn’t said it, but I know she does. I can see it in the way she looks at me. Like I’m a fucking equation she hasn’t quite figured out yet. 

It would help if she had all of the variables. It would help if she knew I’m so in love with her it’s making my whole body come undone.

I shake, sometimes, if I’m around her too much. Isn’t that crazy? Shaking like a fucking chihuahua. Like the 20 year old one my abuela is holding onto for dear life. At least that thing has a reason, it’s ancient and built like a mistake. 

I’m just hanging out with a pretty girl. What’s my excuse?

I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from liking something too much that I get excited being around it, or if I’m so busy closeting my emotions that they’re batting on the walls of my ribs trying to get out. It’s an energy I can’t shake. I’m constantly tapping my feet or shaking out my hands.

She notices, too, of course she does. She’ll take my hands and hold them tight in hers until I stop. “Too much coffee,” she tells me. “You’re getting the jitters.”

She’s not one to talk. I’ve been with her when she’s working in the lab, I know how much coffee she can go through. Still, if she thinks that’s what’s causing me to lose all the composure I’ve spent my life building, then I’ll take it.

I want to tell her but I don’t. I want to tell her in a way that matters. I want to tell her in a way that feels like it’s not wasting her time.

She’s too smart for me. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Half of the things she says go right over my head but god damn, does she look pretty when she says them. I have to nod like I’m following along just so she doesn’t realize she should be doing basically anything else than talking to me. 

I don’t know why she spends so much time with me. That’s coming from someone who, until recently, was a fairly confident person. And she hasn’t done anything to lower it, and she compliments me more often than necessary. But I feel so unbalanced around her, sometimes. Like we’re not playing the same game.

Does that really matter? It sounds kind of stupid when I write it down like this. She’s a smart person. She values her time. She wouldn’t hang out with me if it didn’t benefit her in some way. 

I hope it benefits her. Lord knows it benefits me. I’ve mentioned the shaking, right? 

I haven’t liked something this much in a long time. I’ve never loved someone like this before. Other times, I’ve had to ask myself: Do I really love this person? Or do I just want to?

It would be easier for me not to love her. It would maybe make more sense. But I’ve never felt more at home with someone before. When she takes my hands to stop me from trembling, it’s like I’m breathing for the first time. She’s made me act in ways I’ve never allowed myself to with anyone else. I think in the past I always stopped myself from loving anyone in a way that mattered. I never let it get past the surface level.

With her, I feel like I’m scraping through the bottom of my chest just to make sure she gets every ounce of me I have left to give. I had been holding out for her without even knowing it. 

I don’t know what to call this. Belonging? I’ve never quite understood that word. We don’t own each other, especially with her not knowing how I feel. I don’t think I would ever want her to belong to me, she’s too amazing to be contained. 

God. She’s so beautiful, I might even let her contain me. That’s how you know it’s bad.

Maybe I do belong with her. Maybe that’s why I’ve felt like a defunct person for all of these years, loving people the way I thought I was supposed to. 

I think that she would let me love her whatever way I wanted to. I don’t know why I know this, but it feels right. 

See, this is why I can’t write her a song. I can’t condense all of this down into three minutes of verses and choruses. My incoherent, late-night journal ramblings probably haven’t conveyed it, either.

If I come up with the solution, I’ll write here again.

I tried to talk to her and my mouth went dry. I forgot every word I’d ever learned. It was a little pathetic. I ended up kissing her instead.

It felt like it worked. It felt like I had said everything right there. She ran her hands through my hair and it felt like a song. She whispered my name, and it belonged to her.