This will be the end to what should have been my favorite year. Instead I am left wondering if the sum of my thoughts and memories ought to even exist. Does existing mean shitting eating consuming absorbing until your heart fills so that it cannot feel or wills until it does not want? Or does it mean putting a hand out and reaching out for the next rung in a ladder being built step by step without any other destination but up? Whatever it means I could go either way about if it’s even worth the two dollars on my transit card just for me to look out the windows of an unfamiliar cityscape.
I am feeling the past weigh so heavily in hands gripping without thought and seemingly without choice to the people that once brought me joy and now whose ghosts bring me such great sorrow.
(And somehow I can’t put down these two thoughts that make no sense: that they’re better off without me and that I insulted them by not being around.)
Some days it feels so much like I ran away and now there’s nothing to return to.
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