Everyone around me is sinking again. I’m tired of seeing hands reach out to grab me. I’m walking through limbs and trying not to step on anyone’s fingers. It’s all repetition when you really think about it. Lately, I can’t deal with much of anything. Everyone is staring and sinking. Their eyes magnify in the center. Im floating in the same spaces I once wished to occupy. There’s still a sense of loss, though. I can’t shake it. Im overgrown in a garden that doesn’t feed me. I can’t leave. Light doesn’t get through and I’m oddly okay with the idea that none of it matters much anymore. I think of the future and how eerie it can be. How loneliness creeps in no matter how hard you try- but, there’s comfort in a desolate space where no one can find you. No one can reach for you. I think about my father and the way he would smile and shake his head from laughing too hard. It’s all with the wind now, and that’s not okay. None of it was ever okay. It’s nothing I can help and hold and nurture, so I let it go softly. But it is okay to sit in the nothingness – because as everyone digs and plants themselves in a garden, I stay with the weeds because they need friends too. Everyone blooms and I hover over my own space like a cloud that won’t stop fighting the sun. I’m not sure this is a choice, I’m not sure what goes on after life changes in a harsh manner, I’m not sure of anything at all. I think my fury has lessened. I mean it. I’m not as bad. I’m not as bad. I’m not as bad as I once was. That slow simmer still boils in my chest and my rib cage rattles. Echoing loudly. I want it to break through so badly, but I keep my fury tamed. I keep it calm. I keep it very still. Blooming hurts and I won’t do it until I feel worthy. So leave the weeds around me because I rest on their shoulders from time to time. I hope you understand. After all this time- I hope you can still see me through the weeds. AMT