in the circuitous way that life works, events are coming to an end and it all feels so familiar.
i am slightly disappointed with how things have turned out. other times in the past, eras that now feel like a million years ago, i would've managed, i would've sojourned on. the idea has never been to merely cope but to take every setback as a form of impetus, barreling faster towards some vague sense of future and happiness. people make the mistake of assuming that i am a pessimist because i recognize too quickly the ugliness in the world. but my fallacy has never been cozying up to the bad but believing for so long, that some good comes out of everything.
it is hard for me to accept this. lately, i have noticed the creeping shade and the slow turn inwards. the growing list of things i am sorry for: i don't mean to be so angry all the time, i don't mean to be so sad. often at night, i walk back home and it feels like every day there is less. Less time, less light--everything is diminishing. i wish i could take handfuls of it all, store it in boxes and hide it beneath planks of wood before it disappears but i can't.
i realize now how little good is left. there isn't enough to pass around. lately i stand very still, this frozen palm pressed to my hip.
it just gets harder.
