as hard as i have tried it seems that resentment is the only thing that lasts.
i question and thing about my rage…then when it subsides i wonder about that. that that moment is past and now i’m left with right now. its long and spread out in front of me. endless. constant. lonely.
i can’t imagine death because it isn’t happening to me.
i can’t imagine happiness because this moment is my eternity.
i can’t tell myself that this will pass because it won’t.
it seems that melancholy is more stable a presence than any other.
it doesn’t abandon you in the blink of an eye like joy.
it doesn’t leave your body sick with energy like rage.
it can just be and not love or hate any of it.
the glass isn’t empty or full. it’s just something that was something else that will become yet another thing.
someone will put a label on it and tell you what they think it is and what it means for it to be that.
it is not a metaphor.
it is not life.
life is.
looking at now i can say that this is good and it will never be enough.