Fear
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It’s dark and quiet in the room. The lights are turned down low. Your family has left. It’s just me left. Just me, and you, and your quiet slow breaths. I pull a stool up beside your bed and wrap my hand around yours. I could leave. Your family has. Apparently at peace with what
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I’ve guarded my heart and my soul in many places and spaces, held tight onto the corners and wrapped all the edges around me. Stayed low to the ground to avoid my fear of heights. Who could possibly protect me better…than me? If you keep your feet on the ground there’s not chance of falling,
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I am not a girl given over to soft edges and quiet voices. It’s troublesome, really. I do not ever specifically remember my mother raising me to be such an independent loud spoken, opinionated, demanding woman. If anything, I’d probably owe some of the congratulations to my father. He spent many hours of his time
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I wrote half a page worth of a post before deleting it and staring at a blank page for far too long. It always seems my mind is full to bursting and, at times, it requires far more effort to organize and file away what’s in there for coherences sake than what it’s worth. I
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Sometimes I stumble. It’s a major side effect of being the very flawed human I happen to be. They don’t give you a handout at birth. Not one specifically designed to you, anyways. The one that says you’re going to go through some shit. You’re going to walk so far into a swamp you’re going
I Would Rather Be In Bed 