Business as Usual

Prompt: Write without stopping. Anything that comes to mind goes to paper.

I’ve had a long day filled with nothing, that I spent filled with musings and regrets.

I don’t feel sad, necessarily, and still I want to cry. And then it rains, and I read quotes of writers long gone, and I feel both comforted and heartbroken.

My little solar lantern sits at the edge of my desk. It’s not dark out yet, but dark enough for it to sense it’s time to turn on.

And it flickers like a real flame would.

There’s a metaphor in there, I know, but my fingers are too slow to write, my chest is heavy, and I’m determined to keep the tears in, watching the pour outside my window.

I’m grieving something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I feel too little for my age. It’s hot out, too warm, but I’m a bit cold anyway.

The day isn’t over. I wish it was. I wish it’d never end.

Right now, it’s silent. And amidst words, I am okay, in my space. The world feels too real lately, I don’t want to be a part of it, any of it, but I am so full of love that I can only give by existing so thoroughly in other people’s lives… This dissonance pains me.

I get too close to a spiral, I look at the tempting drop, I stare, I flirt, I fail. I breathe in, taking in more air than I have all day, and I turn around.

Business as usual.