In between things

There is no one to perform for. No great love to get me talking faster or singing as I run up the street at night.

My love is an ocean I pour into tiny ice cube trays, I cannot find myself as I pour. I lost myself at the point of laying flowers on the grave and waiting way too long for the return of joy.

I cant wait to haunt you, as you haunt me.

Instead of waiting I start reading again. I get off of social media for ten minutes. I put on weight. I raise children. I place forks on tables and feelings in drawers where they belong.

Maybe death would have been easier. For we are both still here, yet you let the hours drag by with no word.

I fill the aching with people who will never love me, just use me as a distraction between things.

The in between things. This is where I linger most, because it is where we never sat. We were all plans, and ideas, and long fields at dusk. Then again, first thing in the morning.

In between things is the safest place to be, where I hope I wont feel you at all. Why people make love to walls, as I can barely look myself in the eye anymore.

Ioncehadyouandicouldfeeltheentireworld

It is safer to stay with the ones that look through me, wishing I was someone else. There is no great loss here, just a dull ache that gets stronger right after. Then subsides to burn again just as I see everyone else seeming so in the flow of things.

Most will want me. Be entertained by my attention. Hope to keep me just the way they see me, no less no more. How safe it is to be tolerated. How sad I feel so safe in that loneliness.

I regret everything and nothing.