Hot or cold? I ask Taylor. She tells me that I'm still cold, because the worst thing that she's done is so worse that she doesn't want to say it out loud. So I'm guessing, thinking about what I might've done similarly. It's hard to think of, or gauge what it even means to have done the worst thing in your life. I guess that it would just be whatever you feel the most guilty for.
Easy ones are from being young, the hard ones are recent. Some of my guilt is sitting upstairs, but I don't know how to tell her that and I can't explain it either.
My guilt sat on a seat at the open mic and read a resentful piece about someone I love getting married one day, my guilt hides in jokes that sink far into someone's soul before I can stop it fast enough, it follows me home and leaves my cats alone for hours, rushes out early in the morning too, forgot to feed them for an entire day before, seeks out compliments that it can't come to terms with anyways, my guilt traveled through instagram stories with a man's face, ruining him (but not), it wasn't always good at hearing people, hit and run, contributes to its mom's debt by saving up all of the rewards at the coffee shop for when she won't give it money anymore in August, says things to say things sometimes, is puppeteered by the people it likes, practically turns into a dull, wooden body, flailing its arms around when they're near but it's trying to win itself back at least! I've stopped wishing for things. It doesn't really want to talk to a lot of people, and sometimes only pretends to listen. It likes to get what it wants.