road. trip.

feel distant again. ebbs and flows with nothing to differentiate one from the other except the sense of distance.

much too much time is wasted in this navel-gazing self-absorbed state i attempt to attribute to something outside of myself in vain. it isn’t people but feelings i hold onto, projecting them out as if everyone were imbued with only one emotion – the one i recognize.

the effort to be where i imagine i should be seems insurmountable. impossible. then again, to accept that is to quit, live inside a container of never-ending bonbons, and force the belief that i’m not relationship material, or any kind of wearable material at all.

to be a scarf, a seasonal accoutrement, a fashion statement, a thing needed for temporary warmth, a something to cover the head, the face, the eyes, a thing to hide or swear vows beneath. maybe gloves make more sense for at least they can both dig and thieve simultaneously.

it all sounds quite whiny doesn’t it? what of all the blessings i claim to be grateful for? why ever do they take a backseat? best guess is that driving makes me feel like i’m going somewhere different but you gotta pull over at a rest stop every now and again. that’s where you realize the stop isn’t really for resting. it’s just a place to be reminded everyone’s got the same stupid ass idea. working just to fill up gas tanks.

only to feel distant from what your heart affirms is another passenger.

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