It’s what some might call good enough.
There’s bruising for sure, and lots of aches but on the whole, it’s not the worst. I’m not the worst. Sure, sure I’ve reached out to the two people in the entire world that I should never reach out to very recently but if we are going to sit up here and point out the negative, we have to point out 2 positives- hey I didn’t send more than one message each in years so there’s that bit of growth and I also don’t have shit else to say to them, which is good too, especially since it wasn’t about “us” either time or in particular.
Good Enough, you know? And hoping for, just hoping at all, is 1/3 of the pain of the whole “being alive” ordeal quite frankly, and those periods in between, when there is nothing to hope for, whether circumstances are sunny or rainy, those periods of calm, quiet, peace- of not wanting- of being full- that’s what the chase keeps leading back to but what if, that part, the satisfaction- is so overwhelming that its the catalyst for just another hunger? What to do with this moment and that one and just breathing ain’t enough when they tell you about love and the chase begins…
It’s a circle and we like circles, circles make sense when they absolutely should not. Death is the start and end of the circle and if you can grasp a circle with a beginning then, somehow, you do and somehow you stay lost and could you be real, could you even exist, if you weren’t unsure?
It’s not all quiet. It is not all chaos. It’s luck. It is dumb too. And from the ground, moving forward through it, you can’t tell which is which really anyhow, one thing tumbling over another while you adapt or not.
I don’t know what’s next but since I’m still breathing and I don’t know a love yet that will keep me, round and round I go…
My Mind, My Mood, My delicately poisoned pen... 