I crave the sudden return of the things I once felt when I knew none of the things I know now.
The guilt that follows my every thought and reaction sometimes feels as if it could be enough to swallow me whole.
Everyday, it becomes more evident that I depended on my unawareness to allow me to feel everything I felt without a second thought. I did not acknowledge the impacts I could've made upon others.
I am left to clean and replace the glass bottles that were once on my beautiful shelves. Alone now.
I often find myself in fear. Not only because I doubt that the broken glass bottles are here, but also because I doubt that I have an abundant supply of fucks about the mess to give.
Your words have stayed with me like beach sand in my hair. They've stayed with me for so long to the point where the voice that was once yours, is starting to sound like my own.
After all, it is my shop.
