When I was little my favorite game was hide and seek. I was always so good at hiding in strange places where no one would find me because I was so little. Some games we would set strict ground rules whether the hiding could be done inside houses or outside only or both and where the safe point would be when you were found and you'd have to run there without getting tagged. I'd find crevices inside my garage or above the washing machine. I laid down under a car in the street once and after my brother told on me I got grounded and had to come in early for a week. (I was only, like, 5) Inside the laundry basket was the best spot ever but it only worked if there wasn't any laundry in it- I drew the line there. On the bottom shelf of the linen closet is where my mom has always kept things like sleeping bags and when I was feeling daring- being that I was terrified of the dark- I'd crawl into that little space and hug my knees and pinch my eyes shut and pretend that I had disappeared completely. Often times I just didn't get found and I would wonder in later years whether that was on purpose or if I was just damn good at hiding. I really was damn good.

It's funny how some things don't change. I still love hiding and I'm still damn good at it. But the cheap tricks don't have the same effect that they used to. I need to go farther from the safe points. I need to climb to the higher branches of the trees just to feel the same isolation. My walls aren't as big as they were when I was 5 but I'm stuck still looking at them. It's funny how much more they remind me of a cage now than they did when I was little. It's an odd mix of comforting and claustrophobia that I'm feeling right now.

It's raining outside and I want to run out there and melt into it and dissolve into the ground and be gone. I want the rain to wash me away from this place, this house, this family. If you lived here maybe you'd understand.