Airplane Seats

Location

I'm the kind of person who worries about leaning my seat back in airplanes.

About the loudness of my own breath in a quiet room.

In. Out. In. Out.

Quieter. They can hear you.

I'm the kind of person who doesn't talk because I'm afraid the sound of my voice will irritate and aggitate. Mutilate.

Scraping the eardrums of those around me.

Driving them all away.

Paranoia about the noise my thighs make as they rub together.

Anxiety over whether or not that person caught me looking at them.

Anxiety anxiety anxiety.

In. Out. In. Out.

Quiet.

I spend too much time wrapped up in my head, but not enough time wrapped up in the arms of people who care about me.

Because I'm the kind of person that worries.

Worries about who I'm going to piss off next.

Worries about texting someone first, fingers aching.

Worries about standing too close.

About getting too close.

About getting burned.

In. Out. In. Out.

Quiet.

What if that person knows I'm thinking about them?

Can X-Ray my thoughts with their eyes.

Can see the sweat forming in the cavities of my over stimulated brain.

Because I'm the kind of person who changes my route in the hallway just to avoid the awkward eye contact with someone I kinda-sorta-maybe know.

I can't sleep.

My breath fills every corner of my room.

Louder than the ceiling fan.
Louder than my thoughts.
Louder than silence.

In. Out. In. Out.

Quiet.

I just want my lungs to compress and maybe-kinda-sorta never expand again.

But I'm the kind of person who would never tell.

I'm that person who keeps my over-anxious, worry-ridden breath in a jar sealed with self doubt and panic attacks.

I'm the kind of person who lives behind a glass cage I built myself.

Looking out at a world I will never touch.

Because my breath is too loud, and I...

I am not brave enough to lean my seat back in airplanes.

In. Out. In. Out.

Quiet.

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