towards the end of a dark day

some of us just don’t have a place where we belong. we pace and circle and try to get comfortable but every resting place is wrong – too small, too cold, filled with shit and snarling teeth, too high, too low. Our minds are never still, that inner voice never silent, our souls forever hungry for nothing on the table. We try to love and hope until we reach a point where we miss even loneliness and can’t even remember when there were things worth hoping for. We look at our world and we see it is beautiful, but it’s the flat, detached beauty of a photograph, a glossy, flattened image to trail a fingertip over, smooth, textureless. We feel endless shame as watch our ‘potential’ moulder and crumble, ashamed of our ingratitude, ashamed we cannot love or use the gifts that we’ve been given, can’t even give them away to those without. It’s a game that can’t be won, that ends without resolution, in grief and pain, alone

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