i have never been too intrigued by games, picking up pieces, moving them spaces, following rules.

i try to imagine myself doing so without getting frustrated, without simply ushering the board away, clearing the table and trying to forget i started something i cannot finish.

i have never been too intrigued by games and yet i seem to play one everyday.

player one: pick yourself up, throw back your sheets and saunter to the bathroom +10 points if completed in the time provided

it’s a chore so much so that the penalty looks more intriguing.

player one: if failure to complete task, dock 20 points and move back two spaces

i move back two spaces, barely lifting a finger to trace the next card, rolling the dice, accepting that fate.

player one: if previous task was completed, move forward three spaces and pick up a mystery card.

i read the card a few times, knowing well enough i had not compeleted the task. but again, i had never been one to follow rules, so, i pick up a mystery.

player one: mystery objective, pick up your phone, they’re worried about you, you know?

i bite the inside of my lip, my plush cheeks, i can feel the heat rising to my face.

i try to ignore the nagging feeling.

i have never been one for games.

never been one for rules.

i set about picking up the pieces once more, putting them in a pile to hide the disarray, trying to make it seem as if i have them all in a row, like i know what i’m doing.

i don’t have instructions, no warning label on how it is i’m supposed to go about life, how i’m supposed to play these games i hardly signed up for. how i’m supposed to complete small tasks without the drowned out feeling of incompletion and the nagging drag towards my bed.

so i pick up the pieces, put them back in their box to peek at once and a while, to see if the king or queen has moved, to see if there’s even a spark of reason to get them back out again.

playing this game is a backwards to forwards cycle i can’t seem to escape yet one i can’t seem to stop playing either.

deciding where is the right and where is the wrong? is there a line that seperated the two? who decides?

humans are born with innate abilities, senses. maybe they come more so as we grow up, as our brains develop. maybe our hearts beat a bit faster, louder, spreading its melodic tune to our ears, overriding anything other than what we wish to be true.

but wishes are just wishes, words mushed together to make one big muddy hoop that we slather upon our hearts to build a hopeful foundation that we can only pray does not crack.

the line between knowing where to go and where you’re led is a fork in the road, a decision far harder to manifest an answer to with the snap of your fingers a decision harder to make when your mind goes one way and your legs the other.

when born into the world with expections already etched onto your heart and subtly engraved in your head, you’re split in two unevenly and expected to mend the pieces together with no glue, no instructions other than yourself and that same, old tune.

maybe deciding where to go is letting yourself be led, tight rope binding shackling your beating heart, binding your mind endlessly to not let it wander.

maybe deciding is futile.