“Hospital”
Everything feels well-rehearsed when it shouldn’t. One word sets everything off like water rippling at the slightest touch of a finger. Clothes in a bag, a book for company, my heart in the deepest pocket. I know exactly what to bring, what to expect. There is calculated alarm, an undercurrent pushed further back in favor of rationality, of coldness. My face is on autopilot — smiles for everyone else, a line for others, a mask for myself. I am walking as fast as my feet could carry me through the sights and sounds so familiar. Through beeps and polite whispers, through the harsh white lights. I am walking as fast as my pocket would let me even as it threatens to burst at the seams.
But I am never fast enough.
Blogspot: Undercurrent
Soon everybody will ask what became of me
Blogspot: Cath…
Sometimes it’s easier not to explain. Days have been strings of “What’s it like without her?” or “Do you ever miss her?” or ”Why are you so stoic?” Questions I never warrant answers to, because well, what can I say? I mean, what the hell could I say to What’s it like without her?
Blogspot: Dead End
Blogspot: Lights Will Guide You Home
