I have things I want to say but they all feel like a remix rehash of conversations held before. Like being tired isn’t new and being alone isn’t new. Waking up and going to work. Being in love, the constant state of my being. Wondering about maybes and wondering about other shoes and planning actions and reading books and reading poetry and it’s all the same.
The constant drips of a life flowing away.
The minutes spent with a pet. The enforced perspective of now.
Not having anything to say except all the things I’ve said.
I’m sure there are stories I’ve not told and memories I’ve not shared. They just seem so far away. And very few want a dissertation on mannerisms and choices as informed by sociological pressures which become psychological norms by stint of being accepted practices.
Or to hear why a single brick of c4 would never create such a huge explosion no matter how many detonators you pushed into it(not withstanding the complete lack of electrical signal to said detonators)
I suppose this is the unfortunate circumstance where you want to talk but have no one whose as weird as you are or who loves you enough to listen to you being weird at four in the morning.
Life isn’t what we portray it as. Sometimes, the closest you can get to a person is to hear their oddball ideas and observations and bounce your own back and that’s enough.
And other times…you need to hold someone and tell them it will be ok. Not just for them but because we all need to hear that too.