And just going.
Still awake with the thought I could leave this instant
And perfect my way of living by starting over again.
But I leave things unfinished
I am “half done” with letters and books
And I would rather walk the equivalent of walking “there”
By walking back where I started.
Craving and not working on change
I’m sentenced to a life titled “to be unfinished”
It’s all the ways that my mind kills me
That make me a sad person.
For it’s not doubt anymore
Or the seeking of vague answers.
And it’s making my days longer even when it’s summer.
All in all I’m ok
I am aware
I just don’t know what to do with myself
Time is a slow healer
And or killer
It’s two summers now
Am I ok?
I still think I think
Has all this affected
My way of being?
It never started.
I have yet to decide
If she broke my heart
Or if she made me notice how heavy it really was.
He awakens after a four hour sleep
And it’s six in the morning.
As he waits for the tv to turn on like it used to when she was around;
That just like him she feels homesick.
From wherever she is now.
I set off into self-wrote fiction.
Because that’s what I do when I do not know what to do with myself.
I elevate into a sky of could-have-happeneds.
And I fear of falling.
The ones who fear death with their whole life
Are the ones who were dead all along
And they do nothing but fear
And the probabilities in each of them.