6

Let down by you? Never.
I always knew better than to expect more than you were comfortable giving.
Myself on the other hand - consistently let down by -
the hope -
the tongue biting -
the general disability to say what I meant
(despite knowing it was the smart thing to do)

and because you didn't see it was never something I'd mind.
---
I'm trying to not let the mistakes
(too strong of a word..missteps perhaps. You don't belong in the mistake column.)
of last year haunt my present life.
You're a friendlier apparition than to which I am accustomed
but that doesn't make it any less startling
when I realize it's your face in the mirror..
..only because I can't figure out which of us it is
that is detached from the corporeal.

5

Out with the old and in with the new, indeed.
You can break in something new [given you have patience
and the will to get through the discomfort
of molding something to fit you just so - breaking it
down until it's transformed from what it was into
something to suit your needs],
but even then it always seems that it isn't as comfortable -
doesn't fit as well as that who's place it usurped -
until it too is on its last leg, shuffling its way to the door.
---
Out with the old, but what happens when the new is just
a size too small to fit the space it was intended for? Empty space
surrounding that which should have been full. A halo that instead
of exuding warmth only burns with the reminder
of what once was there. Gaps just big enough
for the phantoms of the past to squeeze through.
[Insulate all you can,
nothing can provide protection enough from their frigid grip.]
---
Out with the old so that you're consistently surrounded
by things newer and younger. Experience vicariously through
them as your joints don't behave as they should while you shuffle
slowly on your own path to the door. Push with whatever you have
left before they get old enough to notice it should be you
on the other side of the door facing that which you outgrew.

4

I think I'm falling apart.

3

"My heart feels like a piece of chalk in my throat" -Skim

I'm usually glad that I love to read - if nothing else it provides me with an escapism that is arguably healthier than my next favorite activity (sleep). And even though it infuritates me I suppose I am thankful too for those little electric moments where it feels like things have been pulled directly from me and put directly on paper in a much more eloquent fashion than I ever could have even dreamed of.

Music, words. The transition is seamless and suddenly makes more sense than ever to me.

I hope for the day that, instead of hiding behind ink and paper, I can open up my mouth without faltering. Calm my pulse enough to not let the words jumble so maybe they'll mean something to someone who isn't me.

2

When did I become so guarded?

Three different places and none exactly matches the other.

If I've got nothing to hide, then why am I so afraid?

Breadcrumbs that instead of leading you home lead you to three incomplete

pictures that need assembling in order to make any type of sense.

---

You still make me nervous.

The idea of getting comfortable makes me anything but -

a surefire way to guarantee that comfort will be fleeting.

It's all just so exhausting to care about..
As much as I don't want to admit it
the only two options are care or don't and with the way I am feeling
one is much simpler than the other.

I so desperately want to be proven wrong.

1

Writing feels..elusive lately.
I used to feel safe with words -
being able to wind truth into often convoluted
ideas where sometimes even I look back and say,
"what on Earth was I even referring to here?".

I've never been a good communicator
[still always so nervous of a reaction that would indicate
me not being taken
seriously
or worse yet - being refused. As things with me always tend
to be cyclical in nature.]
so finding solace in one form of being able to empty
thoughts out of me was somehow comforting.
I'm hoping that after a brief warm-up
(so to speak) my old safe havens will return.

---

My limited experience with bravery
dictates that it is nothing
more than the express to
heartsick and disappointed. Leave the
black knight and usurpers to those with
stronger mettle - I've been burned enough
that I don't feel the need to taunt a dragon.
[However, if given the right armor I may
change my tune. I've never really known
how to let anything sleeping simply lie.]
Minor burns from lessons supposedly
learned seem as if they are ancient history -
lore from a long forgotten time of damsels
and gallant folk - almost ridiculous enough
that it would have to be fiction.
Certainly nothing exists that is so harmful
that it would destroy with so little as an exhalation.