Everybody’s growing up, and I am looking into the past.
I am still that wounded child dealing with her trauma.
I do not like the future…
The future is murky and I cannot see myself.
But I see myself clearly in the past.
I fume in an oven of resentment.
Resentment I know I should get over.
The past is the past.
Yet I hold on to it for dear life.
It’s steady, consistent, I am omniscient to the past.
The past brings tears of happiness and deep sorrow into my eyes.
The older I get the more I lose certain details of memories.
Things that I replaces with sadness.
What did my cousin use to sound like?
What would she of turned out to be if she was still here?
I wake up every morning the same way.
1. To an alarm.
2. What’s the point of getting out of bed.
3. Whatever stuff I need to do insert here.
4. She is gone.
5. I need to pee.
I question everything, over analyzing my life.
Am I living for a purpose?
Why am I working here?
I am not sure of the purpose of this post.
I am also not sure how to end this.
So to be continued…