writing with headache

This thing on top of my neck hurts, from the lack of caffeine, but I’m going to try and write anyway. Let’s just do this freethought until my battery runs out.

You went away one person and never quite came back. I’m not sure who I am to begin with so who can fault you for that? But do you even know who you are now? You were by my side and then you were not. You who judges me for the choices I made. The words form but I can never say them out loud. I’m worried you who judges are toxic. I’m worried you who went away won’t come back to me. Changes happen here and here and the sun shines almost every day in Los Angeles. But never quite the same way. Nothing is constant, they say, so you better get used to whatever as not being what you thought it was. Sitting consciously in that weariness wearies me. We are never who we once were and when he whispers in her ear he changes both of them forever. What she says next – or doesn’t say – could be the beginning or the end.

I always write in circles. Beginnings and ends. It’s always about the path we take from one day to the next and what maybe, could have happened if you turned right instead of left. Re-evaluating the choices we make but never regretting them.

God knows what that all just meant. But it’s there. I did it.

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