My state of mind is contrasting between a revisited sense of abandonment as well as a rising hope for the future. I don’t know why I try to go back to the past. I guess my hope is that there would be something good there, like a redemption of sorts. It’s a narrative I keep convincing myself is real. I still delude like any other broken-hearted person.
The volunteer machine moves slowly.
I come out here and give these words to the ether. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m being surrounded by rising water, or some such strangulation of my fire.
There’s no point in digging. The whole process frustrates. I have a deep unresolved thing that gets no better by looking back.