I'm restless. Yet i am reluctant to move.
I want to speak but words get stuck in my throat. I have to cough them out.
I swallow. Hard. Or i'll choke with my own tears.
I'm sad, yet i do not know where this sadness is coming from.

It's gotten cold...

I find it hard to concentrate. I find it hard to write.
I can no longer separate the beginning from the end.
I find it difficult to give shape and order to this jumbled mess.

I feel disrupted. I fail to see a continuum. It makes no sense- but i guess it does not have to. I realize that i do not deal with uncertainties well. I find them disturbing, but without them life appears boring, unappealing. Mundane.

I wish I could draw a life. Sketch it out in bold lines and find a place for every detail. Details that i used to find trivial, because i was too young to care and truly appreciate. because I thought that there would always be time to catch up on them, not now, later, when i had obtained the unobtainable, when i had lived through the impossible and had reached a destination that did not even exist...

I lack completion. I'm stuck in slow motion.
I'd like to break free, yet i find it hard to move...