Thinking too much

The blue screen of the morning air fills my lungs as I walk near the river. I sit on the rocks and hear the waters gush.

Often when I am driving, a scene from the past creeps into my mind. I would tighten my grip on the wheel and…

I stay up late at night and stare at the darkness. You are like coffee, you keep me up at night.

And what does it matter? It is in the past. It doesn’t matter.

Let me write, let me draw, pen in hand, this is my happy place.

Yet, I find myself wincing as I remember, and I blurt out the words, “I hate you.”

Let me hear the water, let me drink my latte, let me be here.

But I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you?

I look in the mirror and I scrub my face. The skin peels, the makeup fades. The water is cold.

My toes sink into the water and I feel the current tug at my calves. I am barefoot walking on the stones.

I hit the steering wheel and correct myself. “No, no. I don’t. I don’t.”

A dozen different scenarios, which end differently.

I watched the sun set and witnessed the pinks and yellows shift as the sun sank beneath the waves.

let me sink with you.

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