this time.

This is where it all begins. Where it settles nicely. Arranged so carefully. Well, at least that's the way I imagine it. Only, I can't control every variable. Nor do I want to. This time, spontaneous won't seem so terrifying. Risks will be taken. Taken with baby steps, but taken nonetheless. It's the only way for the pieces to fit together. The quiet spells can't be returned. This isn't a contest. A game. This is real. This is where it has begun. On its own. Only, with the help of a little push. Taking it right over the edge.

Honestly

I think maybe. Maybe it just seemed right. Exactly what I was supposed to do. Supposed to feel. Only it wasn't. Yet it was. Too late to change. To think for myself. To make my own decisions about you. What was I thinking? I suppose I wasn't. Mostly just hoping for the impossible. For magic. For the unexpected. Impossible. Everything that I was thinking. Only now, opposite thoughts are marching into my head. Demanding. Wondering. Why. Why play games and risk it? Why remind yourself of that day. The one that could have ended. The same day that started it all. I can't answer that. It just makes sense. For everyone else. But me.

Second Chances

Are you ready? Ready to start. To step into this. Whatever 'this' is. Whenever 'this' starts. However you'd like it to. If that's even true.

I just might be. Right at this moment. Ready to jump. Over the lines. Over the towering walls. So carefully placed. Neatly by your side.

A few more steps is all I need. Really. A few. A push. Just a little one. One to start this internal conflict. Starting with a shove. Big enough to stir things up. To create the familiar uneasy feelings. Covering up the empty. Although, never completely empty. Never for long. Never without you. Only. You. You, the emptier. You've switched sides. Taking on a new role. The one. The one capable of shoving. Just a little. Enough to organize my thoughts. Enough to convince me that I'm ready. Ready to start.

Repetition.

Everything hit at once. Everything that I was happily living without. Everything that I worked so hard to get rid of. To let go. Obviously didn't go very far. The internal shivers are back. The ones that show up despite layers of warmth. The ones linked to trauma. And everything else nicely sealed in that envelope. Or so I thought. Welcome back internal tremors. The dizzy swirling turns are back. Taking over. Planting its stubborn instructions in my head. My head that insists on spinning. My head that wants to twirl around leaving my body behind. Motionless. Welcome back dizzy swirls. Make yourselves at home.

Departure

What did I think was going to happen? Well, I hadn't actually thought that far. The moment was enough to keep me happy. Keep me away from the truth. I suppose it's always been that way. With the truth hanging somewhere. Just out of reach. Pushed out of my mind. Why would I want to picture that? To constantly search for destruction. For a way out. Perhaps for the sake of tradition. I've come to expect it. I've become paranoid. Not that I can help it. Not that it will go away anytime soon. That may never change. I will always be stubborn and awkward. Fragile and sarcastic. Built for some kind of destruction. Only, without an explanation of how it will work. What effect it will have. Surprise. Surprise. I'll take my chances. Not that I necessarily deserve them. Or any of this. This whole set up. Set up for disappointment. I'm sorry. I wish I could be exactly who you think I am. I wish I could tell you everything. Everything and anything. Only. I can't. I prefer being invisible. Slightly out of your reach. Keeping up the charade. Everything's fine. You won't have to worry. Not about me. Me, the invisible one. The one who's constantly afraid. Of. Everything. Only. It's not quite fair. To have everything I should be right there in front of me. Just out of reach. A little too far away. Maybe I should stop reaching. Stop pretending that everything is fine. Start letting it out. Letting you in. Maybe. Only. It's far too late for that. The story must change. And change. Until the truth is no longer recognizable. No longer needed. No longer capable of causing harm. It should though. It should always recreate the same feelings. Until they all blend together as one. One big mess. That's more truthful than you would expect. Maybe. Maybe this would be better if I didn't believe so strongly in childhood wishes. In savings and halves. In wishing on stars. Always hoping. For things I never really had any control over. I suppose it has to be that way. It's only fair. It's the only way to keep going. To break out of the hiding place. To come out with it all.

To make room for something new. New on the inside. With no place to hide.