Undefined.


max-newhall-226066

{Image: Max Newhall // Unsplash}

The good news is that shopping and soap operas no longer hold any appeal.

Nor does day-drinking.

I’ve used them all up, all the vices, the pointless distractions.

I wake in the mornings with piles of ideas: things to do today.

I yearn for connection, variety, purpose, intimacy.

But I know damn well that these things are for offering, not taking.

In the past, I think I’ve taken them more than I’ve offered.

Then I think of all the bridges I’ve burned, the distance created, however unofficial.

And my heart beats the same old refrain: my-fault, my-fault.

Do you love me? Did you ever? These questions don’t even matter anymore.

This is irrelevant.

I’m the one that left, and without you as some sort of anchor, some conduit to feelings, even unhealthy ones, I float perilously, moment-to-moment, grasping at the chasm of each day, delightfully and horribly undefined.

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About smallgrl

Exercising the right to write.
This entry was posted in Creating, death, Introverting, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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