Slow

2:18 AM, clock said; Forever’s on Spotify. I just finished mopping the floor. Some people go to Netflix to kill the wee hours, some would scramble to finish a few pages of their current read, some will squeeze in time for an online game. But not me. I mop the floor, dust my furniture, fill up the diffuser with peppermint oil.

This whole day has been mocking me. It’s laughing and mourning with me, and I watched the minutes tick by ever so slow. How apt that Forever’s playing. Because that’s how it feels like; I’ve been staring out too much today and it feels like forever. I was here in this body, but my mind was flying elsewhere, flying so far away I could’ve gotten so much free miles out of it. It went about thinking–again–where have I gone wrong. Sometimes I’d just to like for my head to stop thinking, feeling, hoping, reeling. It’s such a dangerous preoccupation, to be eaten up inside by thoughts that I conjure.

I wonder why it’s so much easier for other people to go about their lives like everything’s ok, because I certainly can’t. I can’t pretend I’m fine. Smile, they say, and everything else will follow. Such bullshit. How can I go on? I lost, and lost, and lost. What pieces are there to pick up, when there’s nothing left? Do I pick on skin instead, my scabs?

So close to crossing that fine line. Between there and not here. Crazy and sanity. Black and white. A misstep is all it would take. I so want to take it. How apt that Send Me Down is on now. It’s 2:30 AM and, slow as honey, heavy in its weight, the pain is still here.

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Pictured: Still lifes at home