I See Something Of Myself In You

• Jaimee Narracott, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2017

I see something of myself in the way you spend hours staring at a wall, trying to muster the strength to move. Internally screaming at yourself to have the courage to exist. Your sister asks you about dinner and you can't bring yourself to fathom replying because the emptiness in your chest is bubbling up your throat and dancing through your body, filling you up with nothing. You just close your eyes.

The way you look at him. Eyes warm yet still guarded as though ready and prepared for abandonment. Your mouth tweaks into a soft smile and by the time you actually notice it’s made an appearance, your cheeks are beginning to hurt. You let your smile slip away, lest someone notice and call you out on it.

The way you write. There's something so ferocious and untamed about it. Your body bends and hunches over the paper as your hand dances across the page, fashioning a waterfall of ink imagery, just as I am now, trying hopelessly to keep up with the thoughts overflowing your mind and kissing your imagination. Your hands shake when you finally stop and grin to yourself as you look over your work, feeling a strange but welcome sense of pride. You drop the pen and the smile, and you close the book.

The way you hold her hand. Your fingers entwine with hers gently, holding her hand delicately as if it might break. Occasionally you'll allow your fingers to twitch a little or you'll tighten your grip ever so slightly to remind yourself that she's still there, that you're a little less alone. You let go.

The way you express yourself. You can never seem to find the words to say what you want to so instead you bury them in writing and music and hope that maybe one day someone will understand what it is you're trying to tell them. That maybe one day you'll be able to make anyone see just a fraction of what you're incapable of explaining. Maybe you won’t feel so alone.

The way you portray yourself to be something that you're not. To be excitable and passionate and confident. You laugh the loudest and smile the widest and kiss the hardest and yet, everyone somehow knows that you're just a cheap knock-off, soaking in wasted potential. You paint yourself into a vibrant masterpiece of the person you want to be but you don't give the paint enough time to dry. You wonder why all the colour is running and combining and creating nothing but grey.

The way you hide behind metaphors and analogies that seep out of your pores. You romanticise your own suffering just to feel as though your meaningless existence somehow holds some purpose. That you are somehow relevant. Then you remember that you are just one of billions.

I see something of myself in everything you do. I suppose that's why I can't decide whether I love or hate you yet…