how lame of me to turn to you like you can solve my woes. as if you have the power to relieve my ambivalence – to take me out of the grey area into a more comfortable black or white space. to return me to a time when you did not exist and my day dreams had no trace of illusion, only fantastically entertaining whimsical thoughts. i was not wishful then, only thoughtful.
how immature of me to rely on you as a crutch for my sanity. as if your existence in my mind has the force to numb my pain – to turn me away from reality and set me on a path that will heal me. to distract me from the symptoms long enough to find a cure for this disease.
yet here i am: reaching out to you like a hopeless abandoned lover grabbing at the seams of your dress.
wishing i had noticed, and noted, all the goodness when it was still there. ignoring that it is gone. untraceable.
wishing i had known it was temporary and fleeting so i could have, would have, captured it in some way. forgetting that moments are only shattered fragments of memories.
wishing i could take back so much of my energy that i released to you, even though i don’t want it back.
wishing that i’ll have the inner strength to find some inner peace. to stop ignoring the unpleasant truths. to turn to logic instead of logical fallacies. to think wishfully instead of to use wishful thinking.
but then again, i was never good at that; was i?
