I'm just as scared of what is to come as I am of what isn't to come.
What was supposed to come as much as what was never coming.
What a weird place to live, between all manner of things.
Nowhere in particular, or as they'd probably say, particularly nowhere.
Isn't it weird when you're reading some trite garbage and it veers off of the path you were estimating it would go? I, for one, definitely agree with it (Or it wouldn't be written here.)
I listen to Pink Floyd a lot, as most posers do, to the degree that I got a massive tattoo spanning shoulder to elbow. I'd never thought about getting a tattoo until I left my ex. The big one, much like the tattoo.
Something was just different, I realized that if i could walk away from a sure thing, I could definitely walk towards uncertainty. I walked boldly towards what was never coming, but ended up arriving.
I say boldly, when in reality, I mean it happened with my usual cowardice but without it leading to me halting the process. I wanted it to come.
I'm terrified to answer the door when someone knocks. I'm also so scared of conflict that I block people before there ever is a problem, to ensure that there never are problems. I live in abject fear of everything that is coming or going.
"Wish you were here" has one up-front meaning and a multitude of ways for someone pretentious like me to apply it to their life. It's on my arm now, a couple inches up from the inside of my elbow (Whatever that's called.) I wish I knew what was coming, and what never will.
I wish I didn't tremor when I hear a creak in the night, and silently scream whenever my phone screen lights up. I wish I could, for once, go more than a minute without looking over my shoulder.
I wish you were here. Not her, this whole outburst isn't about her. I wish serenity were here.
I just want to feel safe again.
If you've never met the Sunday Scaries, you're luckier than I.
They come from bright fluorescent and cheap linoleum.
They stomp about in broad strokes.
In short, bad deal.
This morning after dusting off my forlorn passions, I sought refuge.
As always, it was granted. Asylum. Shelter.
She greeted me like an old friend.
In short, a reunion.
You look different now, the only words I spoke. It was still her.
As always, she listened. Words weren't her way.
It was still her. Waiting patiently as ever.
In short, a new chapter.