How nostalgic and sad (warm and familiar) the balance of things has become. For every reckless choice, there is a reason behind it. Those odd feelings it digs up, the constant coming and going of people and places and emotions. Home has always been this ebb and flow. But there’s something disconcerting about the new shift in priorities, the quiet, unsettling of lustful glances and wistful dreams, something uncomfortable about the glow of cigarettes and driving home in the early morning hours. About the buzz of the phone, the creak in the couch, the muffled voices and drug induced laughter. It is all about what I should and shouldn’t do, what I won’t and what I will, these replacements for broken hearts. I am stretching and aching and falling to the wayside, into things that aren’t negative but certainly not positive either, steady as we go, but my mind keeps reeling on—
How did we even get here?
Credits to: Poorly Written History
No comments:
Post a Comment