There is a sadness to the summer; a loneliness that lingers in all it’s expectations. Waking up to the sound of cicadas in the early morning and then the subtle sound of crickets ringing in the night’s approach; the soundtrack to this season eats at me so bittersweetly.
There are all these little pieces that equal a much larger whole that are missing; they’ve always been missing.
And I have all these intangible things that I can’t let go of; I can never let go. There are these invisible chains anchoring me to a life that I cannot return to. There are ghosts haunting me, creeping into my sheets, teasing me, reminding me of their death. I have fantasies of a fairytale; some happy ending with someone who doesn’t even know what happiness means.
And all these things are killing me; the aching of yearning for something so close yet so far. But I choose these fatalities- consciously I choose them- because I am a creature of catastrophe. Not an evil kind, but more of a masochistic; I dwell in the depths of all that is lost. I find solace in that emptiness of the missing; I find comfort in the abyss of yesterday’s promises.
“If I could do it all again…”