Wednesday, November 18, 2009

to watch each other sleep

something I wrote on the 16th.

I realised something tonight.

I'm wasting my life.
I have the answer but I do not do what I should.
The flesh is able, but the mind is a mess, and it is fearful.

It's like suddenly thirty. Am I gonna wake up in fourteen years in an apartment I don't recognise? To a life I don't remember. To a life that seemed to chug along fine on auto pilot, but so unbearably empty.

'I don't remember my life'

Is this all it will be?

A big ball of hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades drifting away in the familiar, blending into grey until I am ninety and left wondering how the hell I passed the time.

I am nothing but a big pile of commitments unfulfilled, letters unwritten or unsent, promises unkept, faces indistinguishable, moments forgotten, sentences unfinished, ideas unpainted, gifts ungiven, words unsaid, stands untaken, points unmade.

I am boiling in the heat of choices unmade.

Just like these ancient checked things that blister tired feet,

I am more hole than shoe.

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