Woods-Mac Miller

Hey what’s up. I will make this short, but I’ve been listening to Mac Miller’s album Circles and I really love it. It’s an eerie album but beautifully constructed. In almost every song he talks about goodbyes, or blame, or feeling at peace. It’s eerie because he’s passed now and to leave this as his final album is very…soothing but saddening. I ended up writing a piece to those who get left, whether intentionally or not. It’s a strange and often deprecated space to be in. So please take care of yourselves, reflect if you can, if it doesn’t hurt. ( I might use that line in another piece….we’ll see). You’re still worthy and worth it.

Something For People Who Get Left and Don’t know Why

I am never the leaver. I have never been good at walking away from what’s broken, I was always told broken things can be beautiful; become useful again Even in their brokenness. So I stay, in case they became anything other than sidewalk cracks/The sidewalk aches when it has to hold me up, pressed between rock and gravity like roses pressed in a book with too many dog ears. They promised to come back and reread what they did not understand. Usually people don’t come back to understand why they left. They don’t remember a time when they didn’t know. Anyone can validate a leaver, Those left behind wrestle with the halves they’ve become, and wonder if they gave too much. Maybe if I could see the ending in things, coming to conclusions could be easier. Less like wrapping my car around telephone poles/ A slow steady stop that I already started breaking for /Maybe causing the break instead of wondering when the other shoe will drop /I mean, wondering when there will be no more street to stop on. Maybe if I don’t see beginning in things I will stop looking for the end. While we’re waiting to hear what we’ve spent all night in a quiet car trying to say, Our tongues cautiously approach the speedbumps, and we don’t talk when the car violently rattles over the slopes. We make our voices less shaky to sound like we know what we’re doing. Slow and steady /Pronounce each syllable so we have no where to hide /Make sure they hear you because once we call something an end it has to be done. Unless we lie. Unless we are both remainders trying to be the first one to leave. Who has less heart, Who has less distance to walk away. We practice not looking back in the mirror. We practice holding power over broken people like blackmail. But when we practice leaving all we can mumble is in our eyes, flicking from corners of ourselves, making eye contact with a tear and feeling the room get smaller. We the leavers now, cause grief without being dead . But death is in the room; Is driving the car, Is dropping me home, Is trying to drive away before I get to open the door. To show how good we’ve gotten at closing doors . And driving away. Anything to avoid being the broken taillight, Again.