Monthly Archives: February 2015

from “The Sea of Tranquility”

I don’t feel any different when I wake up on my eighteenth birthday. I don’t feel older or mature or free. I feel inadequate, if anything, because I know what I was supposed to be at eighteen and it’s not what I am. My dad’s brother, my uncle Jim, got really down with himself when I was fourteen and he came to stay with us for a while to “reevaluate.” My mom said that it just happens sometimes when you get older. You get halfway through with your life and you realize you haven’t done the things you wanted to do or become what you thought you’d become, and it’s disheartening. I wonder if she knows how disheartening it is when you get to that place at eighteen.

Katja Millay

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From “The Sea of Tranquility”

It amazes me how people are so afraid of what can happen in the dark, but they don’t give a second thought about their safety during the day, as if the sun offers some sort of ultimate protection from all the evil in the world. It doesn’t. All it does is whisper to you, lulling you with its warmth before it shoves you facedown into the dirt. Daylight won’t protect you from anything. Bad things happen all the time; they don’t wait until after dinner.

Katja Millay

From “The Sea of Tranquility”

I live in a world without magic or miracles. A place where there are no clairvoyants or shapeshifter a, no angels or superhuman boys to save you. A place where people die and music disintegrates and things suck. I am pressed so hard against the earth by the weight of reality that some days I wonder how I am still able to lift my feet to walk.

Katja Millay

From “The Sea of Tranquility”

I feel like I’m waiting here. Waiting for something that hasn’t happened yet. Something that isn’t yet. But that’s all I feel and nothing else. I don’t even know if I exist. And then someone flips a switch and the light is gone, the room is gone, the weightlessness is gone. I want to ask to wait, because I wasn’t finished yet, but I don’t have a chance. There is no gentle pulling. No coaxing. No choice. I’m wrenched out. Yanked, as if my head is being snapped back. I’m in the dark and everything is pain. There are too many sensations at once. Every nerve ending is on fire. Like the shock of being born. And then, there are flashes of everything. Colors, voices, machines, harsh words. The pain doesn’t flash. The pain is constant, steady, never-ending. It’s the only thing I know.
I don’t want to be awake anymore.

Katja Millay

It doesn’t matter what I do, or what I choose. I’m what’s wrong. There’s nothing I can do about it. If I’m not hurting myself, I’m hurting everyone around me; there’s nothing I can about it. I am broken.