Powerless

I’m waiting for something. I don’t know what. There’s a lot of options — impossible to choose.

A reconciliation. A break-through. A change of heart. A glimmer of hope. A transition into something better or more. Another chance.

None of these are coming.

Only I’ll keep looking because I’m stupid. Keep hoping because I don’t know how to stop. Keep wishing because I think it’ll make the hurting stop.

It won’t.

I need to be angry. Violent and offensive. I want to scream and shout, throw things, yell. I want to purge the pain by letting it out. Breathing fire to vent the trapped smoke. I want to fight, be fought. Break things and be broken back.

As if the spacial pain alleviates things deeper down that I know I can’t escape.

I’ll be haunted for years. For the rest of my life.

Little spirits stuck like glitter to the surfaces of my life. I’ll never scrub them off or pick them all out. I’ll only learn to accept them. Learn to live with them. Learn to explain how and why and when they came. And why I no longer try to escape them.

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