Tired might just be the start of it, I think.

I’m a little tired today. A little on edge. Sitting down, staring at an abyss with my legs dangling like there’s no real danger. But I know, I can see it. I inch a little closer trying to see if it really goes on for as long as I think and the blackness of it assures me.

I want to feel a little scared, a little worried, apprehensive, even. But this time I don’t feel anything but tired. Regret taints the back of my throat but I’m not sure what for this time. Regret for this year, my last birthday, a decision two years ago, a decision four months ago. Too many things in that list but I don’t know which one it is, or maybe I’m just regretting opening my eyes this morning. Not being as close to him as I could have been, not being as far away as I now wish I would have been.

But it’s just fear, that’s all it is. Scared of him, of what he makes or doesn’t make me feel. Scared of me for what I could do, could say, could wish and want and crave.

This can’t be homesickness, it’s only been about two weeks. Though I’m not sure what it is I have a black cloud hanging in my eyes – and I wish I could remember where I put those rose-colored glasses.


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