It’s That Little Souvenir of a Terrible Year

…which makes my eyes feel sore.

Disoriented.  That’s what I am.  Because I know they are gone, but it feels somehow temporary.  Which is ridiculous.  But, it can’t be real.  If it were real I’d lose my mind.  And I can’t lose my mind, thus it isn’t real.  Right?

It’s like a compass, but there’s no magnetic north.  What is it then?  Just a needle spinning wildly around?  Or would it sit in one place?  Hm.  The point is, it is no longer a fucking useful tool.  It no longer orients you.

So yeah, I’m disoriented.  I can’t remember who is here and who isn’t.  I can, it just takes work.  I have to think really hard about the littlest things.

And I’m not one to complain about losing weight, but I know it’s not because I’m trying to.  It’s because food nauseates me.  Nothing sounds even remotely appetizing.

And flat.  I feel flat.  I’m stuck in this flat, disoriented space and the sky seems so large.  Like it might swallow me whole.  I think if I jumped in, and let the ache behind my eyes become tears, it might help.  But I’m not there yet.

I’m here.  Flat and disoriented.


Here’s Where the Story Ends – The Sundays