Speaking of which
I had notes written down about myself for an interview. I erased those and landed with this.
Been in the habit of moving away from things quickly. Almost too quick to see how they turn out. Left to reconcile myself with the afterlife of things I lost and let go.
I want to be consumed by a thing until I drown. This body longs for a continually moving target. For now, I throw myself at a prospect and coalesce my energy to see it through. Then on to the next project.
Bend me enough to witness my limits and watch me shutter into infinite pieces that wedge themselves in stories that haunt me on sleepless nights. I will agonize over trying to fix a thing and retrace my steps to how I got here. Never to return.
I struggle to recollect the memories I lost without ever noticing. Cannot remember the last time I laughed uncontrollably or cried miserably and ‘am left to forage and feed myself with hobbies and experiences and stories to construct a version of me that I deem worthy of wanting. Do I want myself?