humans

Being human is the perfect excuse.  You use it at the end of your lies, after your victims have washed the dirt from their skinned palms. It's the excuse behind every forgotten assignment, every unstudied test. It's woven into twangy country songs, and tear-jerking forgiveness stories, and maybe that's why I hate it.

Too much drama. Too heavy.

Being human means you were born, and people loved you without reason to.

You ran your nose along the sleeve of your shirt, and spoiled the walls with some delirious form of art.  The couches were long, and the stairs too high; the world under the kitchen table was a coven of secrets.

And then you got older. I would say 'grew up', but you haven't done that yet.  The table that you unwillingly set so many times became a flat board of food and conversation.  The couches become your Saturday morning, the couches that eat up your earrings and kernels, and hide your phone in its folds.  You pace the stairs: what was once a journey is now just a step to the quiet refuge behind the door that divides you from the chaos.  And that bed that you once had too much energy for is now the only place you want to be.

But that's not why you're human. That's not it.  There are plenty of humans that spend their time in other spheres, with other minds, and far different stories.

And after 3 days of staring at this blank, white, electric paper, I've done nothing more compelling than list every reason why humans are truly human.  I've come up with two, two unspeakable phenomenons that are more ridiculous to me than outer space.  (Don't think about outer space, you'll die).

We let ourselves be destroyed. (In a timid, teenage-girl emotional way, yes)

Because we love the things that destroy us. (People, I'm talking about people. Other humans.)

I hate that list.

And I know you do too. Because we hate that we love things. 

I promised you nothing tragically dark and dramatic.  Perhaps my humanity got the best of me.  

There's no moral to this story. Finding one would just be your human brain collecting words to satiate your hungry soul.

And that's very human of you.