Welcome to my home. I secretly live here forever, even though I walk and talk elsewhere. Be careful it’s fragile.
That’s the thing about living like this; it becomes so intentional that every piece is a keystone. When the pieces go away, you only have the air that was around it, that the people breathed even before they were like that. You are a shell of everything taken away with them, and what you left here. You know how it is.
Sometimes, accidentally, I am the part of me that’s still here. It’s hard to leave.
Being alone ≠ being lonely, but often it’s less joyful. Less playful. Where do I go?
What do I do with regret? I don’t know where to put it, so right now its just fermenting.
Here, take it. Take the sadness too; it’s making a mess because it doesn’t fit here.
Take your social constructs & technology & distraction & busywork & chaos.
This is enough. For me, this could always be enough.
i wake up in a poem