it’s been on the tip of my tongue for weeks.
i don’t know if i was awake or dreaming, but i came close to telling you: “i feel like something has changed.”
there was that brief moment days earlier when i’d drawn a circle around it, but side-stepped all the way to some even deeper hole. this is a problem of mine. i can’t be happy with the good in my life and i’ll do my best to tear it down. though usually i’m the only victim of my self-sabotage.
talking at length with one person for so long is outside of my abilities, yet i persist hoping that the whole artifice will come tumbling down around me. and then my abject misery when it feels like everything is for not. i want to put the knife in my own back and then grieve the loss of you, like i’ve done over&over&over&over…
this is a problem of mine.
the truth is that i know nothing has changed except that i’ve grown tired of what i’m doing to myself. so i project all of it onto you hoping you’ll do me the favor of letting me blame you for how awful i am to both of us.
“as you’re folding up the shirts you hesitate.”