Forty Nine

Day Forty Nine:  Tragically

Go home, he said, go home and leave us alone.  I don’t like leaving anyone alone, so it just makes me curdle my anger inside.  Can that be a thing?  Curdling?  Pent up?  Drumming out?  Checking out?  Is it okay to always check out when things get borig or tough or insecure?  Security is never a sure thing though, it never seems to come when I need it.  You’re supposed to trust yourself that you’ll take of yourself, that yourself will be..well, yours.  Those days come along when you don’t come through, what then?  Should I just let myself break?  I shouldn’t let anyone break, let alone…  Well, is it possible to curdle?  To curdle against the stream, to maintain a steady heartbeat around these..swimmings?  Is it philosophy to write your own stories?  Own words?  Is it Shakespearean to try a little?  In other words, unheard of?  Am I really alone with myself?  Is it possible that within all of these thoughts, these…obscurities within me I have compiled an other?  Have all of these dreams, these conversations, not been with no one but been with myself?  Are we ever really left alone?  Can we ever really leave?  “Left alone.”  Stupidly fumbling for the keys, the password, the last straw.  Is it to painful to really see that although everything around me might be balanced I just might be a little off-kilter?  I am tied to the fact that maybe I am never by mself, left to be, just left to be among.

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