Feeling guilty, feeling infinite

(I made this and sent it to post secret france about a year ago. It made it on the website, and I got really excited. Translates to: It's hard to be free like you.
I know I write too much. Regardless of how many amazing people have told me I don't write too much, I am still going to think it. So I'll say it again. I write too much. )

tonight all these out of order thoughts came to me.

I felt infinite.

the last time I felt infinite,

it was two years ago,

maybe three.

I texted the girl I had.

I said

"I feel infinite"

I didn't have to explain

what infinite felt like.

tonight,

I walked in a field,

at night,

wearing a blue skirt,

without tights and socks or shoes.

I felt infinite.

mosquito bites and long grasses,

setting sun.

it felt like a movie,

one where the main character is an awkward girl

who makes zines and lives in her head.

like Amelie and the Science Of Sleep,

but gayer and lonelier.

but still beautiful.

well, the cinematography would be beautiful.

the girl, just so so.

I want to go swimming.

I want to go to the beach.

I want to wear a bathing suit,

one without shorts and say,

"I am scarred, I am scared, but I am here."

I am here.

I am here, and being here

is really fucking hard a lot of the time.

sitting on the bench,

the field surrounded me,

and I felt like my life was a lot like this field.

a field with little white flowers, with no one there.

two years ago,

I think of what happened on that night.

I realized that right now I am two thirds the same person,

one third different.

two thirds the same problems:

parents, body, self-perception, fear, cutting,

the one third difference is the fact that I'm working on it.

that I've changed,

gotten better in some regards,

worse in others.

when I die,

wherever I go when I stop breathing,

it will be like the field.

I love the field, so it won't be a bad thing.

past, present, everything comes together in the field,

and I think and watch the seagulls.

no one yells at me.

there is no pressure to be anything

but myself.

there's always a cool breeze.

I feel guilty

for sifting through the past.

I sift non-linearly, when I have time at night,

your past, his past, her past.

reading all the words that you wrote,

reading them,

even though they are there to be read.

gosh,

you've changed.

I am happy.

I am alone.

I am not lonely anymore.