The Shore
It gets old. The sentiment that this is new and strange. That this is wrong. That this is terrible.
every step towards an increasing thing.
Things. I’ve tried so hard to move away from things. A reliance on some stalwart in reality. A zeitgeist in the psychosphere.
I suppose these platforms of things were meant to be the foundation I could build something off of. A happier life?
a satisfactory existence.
a pathway
to
love
the idea
of not hating myself.
But it was always just things. Imaginary footholds.
We/us/me/them lost in the vertigo. Drowning
in
sentiment.
But here is the edge. Here is the shore.
Where are we now if not this tempest. What are we now if not forlorn?
I know this all too well.
M
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