Silverfish

It May Not Be as Obvious as I Assumed

This lack of candor and prosperity fills my heart and seeps into my bones with a poisonous ambition.

Yesterday morning I sat by the river and waited for you. I wanted a lot of things from this vacation–intimacy, vulnerability, sweet sincerity–but instead gained that awful consumption. And with that came worry, confusion, and misdirection.

I must admit, however, that I have gone too far. I've invited this sort of premonition into my mind and feed it with all of my anxiety. I questioned my odd sense of control–or rather lack thereof–and played into that sick game, defeated and desolate on the other side.

Why would I allow this to happen? Of course it is because my comfortable solitude pushed me into it. A solitude that perhaps wasn't so comfortable after all, eventually driving me beyond this state of composed comprehension and into a fight of flight action. I am torn between the two, but then quickly remind myself that the world is not so black and white, the answer more like a calm gray evening, creeping cold air from the East before the storm.

Can my acceptance pull me out of this awful state? I believe so. Hope for a better conclusion forces for more calculated and strategic decisions, usually. But then there is always that wonderful self sabotage type that delivers without hesitation, always on time.

I am experiencing that phase now, I assume, for I am sitting alone instead of with you, and I think that fact holds significance. I've accepted that this attention was entirely misdirected on my part; that I am just another artist to you, and nothing more endearing.