In another life I wouldn’t be just sitting here. Day after day, wondering where the words have gone. Like looking at photos of forgotten friends I’ll never see again. Punches of memory that leave only the slightest of bruises. I take a tentative step, but I have nowhere to go.
I used to believe that time was on my side. In the way that each new day is another chance. To find what is missing. To put right what is wrong. But time is little more than a trickster. A funhouse mirror that distorts truth into dreams. The sun may rise and set, but the day remains the same. Like running on a treadmill. A tangled knot in the thread of life. My feet may feel the pull of the distance, but my head knows I can’t go anywhere.
A beginning. A middle. And an impending end. A circle of breadcrumbs more than stale enough to follow. And here I sit. Without words.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
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