Where I am is not where I belong

dying…one ushered teardrop at a time.


Reflecting on how I got here is a constant preoccupation of mine.  I think of all the missteps, just small altered changes in common minutes, minutes that seemed to linger in nothing of importance.  The tracks are traceable, sort of, but I can’t retrace them.  It’s not possible to go back in time-only to reflect on time and panic about how you got here, in this place, this absurd, horribly disturbing place.



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