Living comes to this point where you feel like it's mush. Just one huge bowl of mashed potatoes. One giant pool of jello. All stuck together, unable to sort through. It's the worst. Not the fact that you don't know where to begin, but the fact that it's all jumbled and you can't even enjoy it. So, I'll slow down and be ok with my rims grinding on the snow burdened roads.
A step back in the right direction gets me to you. The you that I know is capable, and willing. Sharp left, and now I see what I'm really dealing with. Loneliness. It's my fear. The only real fear. I find myself making every possible mistake. Making every wrong u-turn. One headlight out and I realize I couldn't see myself in the dark, couldn't see myself for what I was really doing. Letting myself doubt you. Doubt the us that we know is there. It's this, the reality of things.
I sit on my floor, paint markers in hand and I wonder how to depict your life on a simple Christmas stocking. How could I care this much about the public strew of colors on fabric. On how our lives have finally come into place. Like missing links. Was it that I had read the map wrong? Or never needing a map at all. This is my adventure, I assume. I can make any move, and control the system. Wrong. Life in hand, not mine, but his. His, the one who I have gotten to know for what seems like too many 4 a.m. let downs. I love him, but not in love. I can't seem to find what I had had. The IT factor. I'll find it on the way. The way to letting things fall as they may.
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