Messy is late summer nights with frizzy hair and glowing skin.
It’s hands sticky with pancake syrup and the goo that comes from a melted popsicle.
But messy is also writer’s block and overthinking and racing thoughts and overattachment and crying and sleeping the day away.
Messy is the world when mercury is in retrograde. When everything feels a little backwards and you don’t know why.
Messy is you and I, or maybe just me.
Messy in the not-so-good way.