thirty five: set stubborn on standing

This is not getting any easier and I feel like it hasn't even begun.

I hate that I'm going through this.

I hate that I'm writing this for the whole world to see.

I am weighed down, with thousands of miles between us.

I feel like there's more to the story, that there's clues to the answers right in front of my face waiting to be found so I can smile again.

It's so easy to tell that I am not right lately, that I'm not "all there", it's written all over my face and getting so much harder to hide.

I feel like this is all my fault, and if I had just said the things that you wanted to hear, none of this would be happening.

If I wasn't so set in in my routine, if I wasn't so scared you wouldn't be so against me leaving this place for a while.

I need you, for as much as that scares you; I need you.

It scares me too.

This is as plain as I can put it.

 

I wear rubber bands on my wrist instead of tying string around my finger so I don't forget.