Ah, the way loneliness can make one feel. Amazing what it can reduce you to do.
I found myself aimlessly wondering the isles of Walmart comparing and contrasting the stripes on bathroom towels and the softness of Charmin vs Quilted Northern. Have a become that consumed with the daunting task of staying per-occupied?
Seriously, you would think I would have nipped this in the bud by now and slowly but surely I am. I'm still burring my face in that book with the ice cream pale on it's cover searching for solace and peace of mind. Quite frankly it's only making me think of things that much more but in a more comical light.
Time is moving at a very, very slow pace as if some prankster mashed the "slow-mo" button while he sits back giggling at the slur.
As much as I hate to admit it, I really do hate the sound of saying "I'm alone" yet my optimistic side keeps reassuring it'll work out.
So back into the books, the isles of bathroom towels and toilet paper I go. Hi-ho. Hi-ho.
Although he is in one place and I in another and where I am is where I'd like for him to be; I can't help but have a false sense of hope. Maybe because I know in my heart that I was what he wanted and he was what I needed. Such a rare balance.
My babbling has become a comical procrastination of healing because I'm not yet ready to be healed.
I found myself aimlessly wondering the isles of Walmart comparing and contrasting the stripes on bathroom towels and the softness of Charmin vs Quilted Northern. Have a become that consumed with the daunting task of staying per-occupied?
Seriously, you would think I would have nipped this in the bud by now and slowly but surely I am. I'm still burring my face in that book with the ice cream pale on it's cover searching for solace and peace of mind. Quite frankly it's only making me think of things that much more but in a more comical light.
Time is moving at a very, very slow pace as if some prankster mashed the "slow-mo" button while he sits back giggling at the slur.
As much as I hate to admit it, I really do hate the sound of saying "I'm alone" yet my optimistic side keeps reassuring it'll work out.
So back into the books, the isles of bathroom towels and toilet paper I go. Hi-ho. Hi-ho.
Although he is in one place and I in another and where I am is where I'd like for him to be; I can't help but have a false sense of hope. Maybe because I know in my heart that I was what he wanted and he was what I needed. Such a rare balance.
My babbling has become a comical procrastination of healing because I'm not yet ready to be healed.
