Some things get better as others get worse.
I am better at saying goodbye. When I’m distracted, I mumble it under my breath. Just to be safe. Just in case I never see you again. I am getting better at using names. Sometimes, it’s less intimate than “you” and people always want to hear how their name sounds in your voice. Just to be sure. I am getting better at biting my tongue. Hard enough to be effective, but not enough to hurt.
I am getting worse at thinking big. I imagine ideas shrinking down to pin pricks and dreams able to fit in one closed fist. I am getting worse at ending the day. This is why I’m standing in the kitchen at midnight, rubbing at my mascara over the sink. I am getting worse at waiting. I sit with my hands knitted together in my lap, my feet swinging back and forth. Now, now, now, I chant.
Better at making up stories, but worse at knowing where to end them. Better at knowing what you want to hear, but worse at remembering to tell you.