Withdrawal Symptoms II

The withdrawal symptoms are a maelstrom of mixed feelings. At the same time, it manifests itself as a sketchy, shaded presence. It is a wisp, residing under the surface of normal routine- it slides around my mind so easily, it leaves a faint residue of things I wish I could recall with cold clarity. There's a slight shift in the opacity, the weariness that hangs around. There's a change in colouration. I realise that i'm not tired because of what I've been through- I'm tired because its absence rings clear in my head.

Nostalgia is sour and sick. Hapless and helpless. Such a slippery feeling; I remember the fuzzy edges of the things we did but at their centers they start to elude me.  The brevity of my experience has frayed these thoughts; five days in a greenhouse has watered down my insecurities, and pieced together such fragile things. Saying over and over again: this is what it feels like, to be reached out and received.

If you could restore moments that would be great, it means that they can be replayed. But for every second that crawls by, and for every thought that creeps into the corners of your semi-conscious mind negativity gains another inch of ground. Confusion, outside-world-influence. Pallid, sordid, realism. (Everything's been so surreal, I'm having trouble believing. and if you can't even bring yourself to believe, where is your backbone?)(I lost mine when the hall first stepped into me.) As of now, I'm left breathing on borrowed time.

  After the bubble's been popped there's no more reason for denial. Tell me that all of us can continue to live in our own secluded world- what a contradiction, in such a frenzy, we have grown to be such reclusive people.  I can't force people to talk to me, I wish I didn't have to realise that there was a bigger picture. Zooming out's become such a pain-

Now, we all have our own lives to live.