Distances grow impatient; the sky lets out a harsh sigh as a fire inhales in a flickering living room; we sit, pretending we didn't see it coming; it's over, we say, the world has finally ended.
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Another long year has passed. I fear another long year ahead. When am I going to get over it? I've tried but can't seem to do anything. I feel like I've been faking it for two years now, fairly unsuccessfully. Maybe I'll never get over it. Maybe I can only try to push it deeper down inside myself. Maybe faking it is all I'll be able to do. Maybe that's the point. I give up.
Happy freaking birthday.
About Me
- B.S.H.
- I have an MFA in poetry from the University of Florida, and since poets make no money, I'm looking into the lucrative profession of fly fishing, though I've never been fond of that much silence, or fishing.