I took the back way home from work today. Not because I had to, but because I could. It was in hopes that something, even the smallest little thing, would wash down the madness clawing its way from my chest.
No matter how deeply I breathe, the suffocation is always there, sitting on my chest.
I need some significance, give me some reason. Anything, anything at all. I just need to know that there’s still something left inside of me. That there’s still some fight.
How do I find purpose in something so transitory as a day or perhaps just a simple feeling? For once, I would like the turning page to bring assurance. Enough that I can make a decision. That my mind can be made up. Even if for only an inch. I wont ask that mile. Because my memories can no longer sustain me.
I want passion, I want drive. I want life. To know there is something more for me, than just this emptiness. That I can find more light than just from this melting candle.
The bottom line is, I am what’s wrong. And if you were to sweep up the broken pieces, there’d be nothing left of me.
I have to just keep moving.