How is it that the feelings of others
Usually so obscure
Can at times be so much clearer
So much sharper around the edges
Than what’s inside my own core…
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How is it that the feelings of others
Usually so obscure
Can at times be so much clearer
So much sharper around the edges
Than what’s inside my own core…
I feel like there’s something I’m not willing to admit to myself
But I keep getting closer to uncovering it
I feel like I need to. It’s part of the process. But I’m afraid it’s going to hurt
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s something, but not such a big deal. Maybe it’s not very painful at all. Maybe I’m overreacting to a minor discomfort. Maybe it’s something absolutely horrible, something I will hate myself for.
Will I be tempered in the crucible
Of this cutting new awareness,
Maybe even sharpened to a razor’s edge?
Could somebody please
Do me a simple favour?
Is this really grief for the fantasy now dead,
Or is it regret for seven years tainted
With a lie I told myself?
I became emboldened
Thinking this was it
Thinking I had the big mystery solved
I was carried by my arrogance
Did they find a safe shoreline?
Was their heart calmed
And did they find their…
I can’t see anything looking forward. It’s blank. Unknown. I can only look backwards, on what fuzzy bits I can remember.
(A continuation of 98% Sure)
It was and is the right choice.
I still know this with 98% certainty.
So
I wonder if what’s really making me so sad about this now
Is not that what could have been never was
Is not that I continue to resolutely choose this
But why it’s so certainly right
And how part of me wishes
(In my selfishness)
It was all a big mistake
And I am able
And actually deserve
To add to humanity’s pool of the world’s only
Truly unconditional love
October 8, 2024
I was always so sure.
98% sure, I would think.
“Just isn’t for me”, I would say.