pocket reverie: rot on the branch

my mind: a looping monologue

Lately, life has felt meandering.

I’ve stalled—missed train after train—with no insight on when the next will come.

Maybe I’m not supposed to be at a train station but at a bus stop.

Yet I remain here.

Waiting.

I should look for a bus.

I stand.

Every step is weighted with how long I’ve stood in place.

What if the train comes barreling down the tracks as soon as I step away?

If I leave…is that admittance that I have wasted time?

I think while writing I’ve been softening my voice—shrinking myself.

I’ve been attempting to be palatable.

Am I palatable?

Do they like me?

Then I think I am a stem whose flower has wilted and fallen—petal by petal.

I am shriveled, a lingering shadow of what I could’ve been.

I am rotten and worm-eaten.

I would’ve lived so briefly in a vase—but maybe someone would’ve hung me up to dry and preserved an impression of me.

There would’ve been no mistaking when I was at my most incandescent.

I think I am festering.

Sap oozes where petals used to grow.

I am an infection that spreads to the roots.

What if it’s not rot?

I think I am living out of time; the world is in spring and I am stuck in winter.

I am perpetually in the aftermath of my favorite season.

I think I’ve used up, wasted, all of my allotted joy.

I don’t remember most of it.

Surely there’s been more than I can remember.

Then I think, the only promise life makes is death—and death is suffering.

And I think, joy is elusive yet expands—maybe I haven’t used up my ration.

I am killing it.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Willfully.

I think—what if I never stop thinking?

And then—and then—and then.

I am at a train station, waiting for a bus.

And I think—lately, life has felt meandering.

Author's note:

As my first post on the platform I thought I would share one of my favorite pieces.

Thank you so much for reading!

If you'd like to keep reading along with me, I would love to have you <3