sombre

anemone eulogies

11:38 AM — wednesday october 27th

when will i ever be satisfied?
i trace the question over and over in my mind, like fingers on the worn edge of a blanket, fraying, unravelling. satisfaction is a ghost. always ahead, always out of reach, fading just when i think i see its shape, its face. 

my days fold into each other like paper, creased at the edges, soft and thin, one moment indistinguishable from the next. i wake. i move. i sleep. i wake again. nothing sticks. nothing feels real. it’s like watching my life through a window smeared with dust, only silhouettes, only shadows. 

i want so much. too much. it piles up inside me, pressing, choking. i want to be happy. i want to be free. i want to be anything other than what i am. but the wanting never stops, it stretches like an endless road, horizon forever slipping away as i run, breathless, feet pounding the pavement but getting nowhere.

there are times when i think the wanting will swallow me whole. is that how it ends? is that how i’ll end? 

sometimes i catch myself staring at the ceiling, counting cracks, lines, spaces between thoughts. i’m afraid. afraid that i want so many things, that i need so many things, that i’ll never hold any of them. they’ll scatter like dust in a room lit by a single, fading light. 

and what if i do get what i want? 
what if i do find satisfaction? 
will it be enough? or will i be hollowed out by the knowing that nothing else will come, that the reaching is over, the chase done? maybe i’m scared that once i have it all, there will be nothing left of me. 

isn’t that what i’m made of? the wanting? isn’t that all i am? 

i’m afraid that in the end, after all the wanting, i’ll be left with nothing. a hollow shell, an empty cup.

when will i be satisfied? when will the ache in my chest stop? when will the weight lift? 

but maybe the real fear, the darkest one that hides beneath the rest, is that i’ll never be.