Long Time

Almost two years.

Nothing seems to work.  Bad couple of days.  Lonely without my wife, maybe.  She’ll be back soon.  But I will leave someday.  Maybe for too long.  Have faith.  I don’t believe in it anymore, but I will still have to leave.  Irony.

Life is a fierce beast. It hunts.  It catches.  It always catches.  Its claws are around my throat, choking itself out of me.  I build paper ghosts.

I have regrets.  I never wanted them.  I have them now.  They are all about me.  They are not about other people.  Feel like I missed the best part of myself sometimes.  Quarter-life crisis.  I will die someday.  What will I leave?  

Struggling with the question about what I have.  Do I have something uncultivated, or do I have nothing and think I have something uncultivated.  Doomed to frustration.  Never satisfied. 

So much good.  I lack happiness, sometimes.  Today is a time.  Being alone is not healthy.  The house is too big, and I am too small.  I am so small. 

Why write this?  Nobody reads.  I have no readers.  I have no listeners.  People used to listen.  Should it matter?  Some say no. 

When I was young, I used to be at levels that were five years above my age.  I caught up.  It is hard.  Must decide which section was empty.  This section feels empty because the other felt full, but is it perception or reality?  Life is a fierce beast.  It hunts, and it will always find you.