The older I get the wearier I’m becoming.
Over years, lovers turned to strangers, friends then to enemies,
or even worse, strangers.
I understand falling out, I understand out growing, but I think the constant shift is starting to fuck with me.
The world that lives inside my brain eats me whole constantly, and then spits me out. I wake up stumbled, crumbled, defeated, depleted. Not everyday, that I will say, just most. I know I’m supposed to host these feelings in my body and mind and accept them —
I want to neglect them. I lost pieces of myself in this journey, so far
I wake up some mornings in grief wondering if I’ll ever feel like myself again. It’s not like I remember who she was entirely. I tiredly stumble across old pictures of me and you, old pictures of me, old pictures that fill me with sentiments that I don’t remember feeling when I was a kid.
But I still wish I was a kid again.