It does not matter how many times you ask yourself a question, if you never do anything about it, no point exists.

I volunteered to fight a war with worry, only it lasted much longer than I had bargained. Grown tired and unmotivated, I spun helplessly to defeat. Hoping I’d be stronger this time, thinking somehow I’d become immune to loss after so many. Only, no, the cuts multiply and get deeper, frightening when you stop noticing by how much.

I fought and was trampled by plague, resulting in a less connected version of myself and life as I knew it, the world. I became less focused, productive, even more out of sorts. Who knew one could be so consistent at falling upon the less taken path to crazy, fighting way through prickled bushes that scrape arms, face and chest. A path not necessarily to home, or a place known just a way from here to some sort of clearing, difference.

When the punches of life, self and others clash and bash through this feeble heart, I’m brought weakly to ground, to floor I lay, on my left side, staring off into the nothing you see, the darkness of my mind.

I look at this face given to me, listen to this voice, feel the tears track cheeks and heed this kind voice of reason; birthed by intuition and scars.

I bleed the story, clothed by this skin, face, hair and body.

“Nothing is wrong with you”, a firm statement made with stern sure eyes, so intense, I nearly believe it for myself. Yet still, I silently say, “Actually…”.

How many words can I write, to better? How many nights will pass until I am as whole as the moon?

There are things I wish I could tell you, things I wish I knew. Goodbye’s have gotten tiring, hello’s as well and both nearly with same reason.

 

© 2017 jk.larayne

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