To remember how solid I am, real.
Unbelievable, lately I'm a ghost.
A part of me has died.
I notice her absence like an orchestra misses a conductor.
Shock, anger, grief.
A natural response to change, maybe.
We pass by in the hallway, indifference aches. I watch friends gather, yet don't belong.
Solitude has invaded my life.
Searching for a connection I thought I'd always have.
Until he let go.
Stopped walking.
My path was not his, nor his mine.
I belong to no one.
I've debated taking that out, but the truth is I can't sleep at night, and hiding that truth seems wrong.
Why pretend everything's alright unless it's to calm a child? Even then children are perceptive. It's only a matter of time.
Can I hate him for lack of growth?
Can he control rapid expansion?
Attempting to stop it is like trying to cap an atomic bomb.
So we wander, drive aimlessly, scribble in note books, cry in the shower.
There's not much I haven't tried to fall back to sleep, but I'm awake.
I'd felt it coming, the change, my metamorphosis.
When a caterpillar turns into a butterfly, it doesn't just wake up one day all shiny and new.
No.
It fucking eats itself.
Imaginary cells begin to form on top of it's dying body wrapped up in isolation.
The butterfly had to imagine it's new structure.
Vision, last step before transformation.
That's what I'm missing.
Perhaps I'm still grieving...
over words spoken, and never heard.
The touch I never seem to feel.
Haunting those I love,
because leaving is too painful.
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