let there be love

I can’t tell the difference between being prudent and being paranoid.

And I’m a horrible mess: Stuck and not moving and clinging for deal life to the status quo which threatens to be thrown off balance every day, just standing there and staring at my feet and letting the waves and the salt and the sand rush up and down and over and feeling the entire world spin at thirty degrees about its axis at thirty kilometers per hour and still not have moved a millimeter times ten to the power of negative ninety nine. Because I know I’m in a totally wrong state of mind to make decisions I can be sure I won’t regret, which seems perfectly logical.. except when you throw in the fact that it doesn’t look like I’m going to be getting out of this state any time soon.

How?

The disturbing thing here is increasingly I’ve begun to realize I don’t know what’s wrong and what’s right. I want to know I’m impatient to know I’m scared not to know and I’m frightened of people finding out and staring disapprovingly.

I feel like yarn being knitted and unpicked and knitted and unpicked and knitted, after each tedious correction the pattern closer to perfection but also the threads more worn, more haggard.

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