I would like to react. But for now I fear I am past that.
A little broken, a little sad. Relieved.
It will only get harder. Won’t it? It will. The emotional unravelling, how easy. How difficult is it to scream, to cry.
Now the awkward aftermath. Will you still need me tomorrow?
I fear the loss of my sanity.
I fear the loss of my faculties.
I fear the loss of my empathy.
I fear the loss of very few.
My headphones are on but I play no music. The white noise fills my ears.
A certain reassurance, a cotton wool-like numbing.
I fear other people will speak and I will have to listen.
I fear hearing other people.
Stretches of beauty are waning and I can’t allow the chain to break or everything will be static and floating and empty.
I fear my timeline has left me behind.
I fear I have let my timeline leave me.
I fear I lay too much importance to rest in ridiculous things.
I am bored but not disinterested. There are things that will entertain but I am lazy now, I will not search them out. Temperamental but dispassionate, I cry too often only to blink unnervingly at what should frighten me the most.
I fear the itching around my eyes will never go away no matter how many cool fingers I press upon it.
I fear I allow my body to manifest its grief.
I fear I have no grief to compare to others.
I regret nothing but maybe I shouldn’t be here.
Decisions deserve not regret but second thoughts.
