I’m still in love
with her,
not you,
though everyone imagine.
I hold her in my dreams,
a soulmate sort of thing,
I remember once,
she held me in her arms,
said this is it,
I wish that we might be
all we need.
I’m still in love,
not with you,
only her.
So I’ve really lost my head over this thing haven’t I?… The words are floating around in my head, a constant reminder that something is amiss. I want to believe it’s fine, but I just cannot convince myself completely. I keep feeling this same low level anxiety I have carried around with me for years – not able to ever find peace.
I really went overboard. I haven’t let go of her at all. I can’t really get past my love for her, and now suddenly I imagine how deep my grief has taken me, to a point of psychosis. This is a telling tale of how lost I have become, to such a degree I question my own worthiness in my job. I wonder if everyone knows how fucked up I am.
Is this actual writing or tall tales?
I am laying in bed imagining myself in a Hollywood script – lifetime movies. I look around the room, the layout, electric light and battery cable attached to the wooden headboard. Am I tacky? He thought to himself. How do my friends feel, am I well?
This is the every day mind of a youthful ambition. To know the right words as we will wish we could. Or, is it only me? The mystery begun.
He carried himself with grace pushing through the room and then he forgot where he was though knowing he was safe in bed he sighed, always we might feel safer. It was like he was living out his diary in every move. And suddenly I’m letting myself lose my mind, astonished the result.
I am a case study that is being allowed a pleasant life if leads accordingly. I am well liked and I support kids, 100%. But, I feel this anxiety over-dramatized. I am experiencing an existential crisis and I seem like everyone believes I’m fooled and I can’t be. I have to be steadfast and assured. And then I carry on. We all carry on and I love life simply trying to pay back my debt to society. I sometimes confuse that debt with life.
How much do I want my perceptions to be absurdly dramatic, like a scene? A moment in time lived in a minute.
All played out on a set. The entire routine. Standing near the counter hands on granite, hunched over, staring at feet, the luster of wood dimly lit, underneath. Next move. What movie set am I living my life on?
These are words to say, good morning. I’ll write another day.
©️ aquietwalk 4/2022
I was told
oh so bold
her words would move me
I had somewhere to be,
yet alone
this unknown
semblance of finality
the winds so symbolically,
played outside my windows
shaking the pains in its throes
my bird feeder ready to sail if the nail gives
tossed back and forth only time forgives.
I listened in awe
each whistle like a saw
cutting through the afternoon air
without hesitation, a constant tear.
I listened to the winds, the changing winds
I listened to the winds, her changing winds.
© aquietwalk 4/2022
Paper and a pen 