Splitting Silently

What's weird is not talking. I have the urge to call, but I don't. I fear what the conversation will turn into. Conversations over the phone have, in the recent past, turned into shouting matches, which then turn into me trying to get away and eventually just hanging up. Hanging up, mid-speech. I've never hung up on anybody before, but I started here, and I found eventually that I couldn't stop.

One of many signs of things gone bad.

So yes, I'm sad and lonely, but that comes and goes, like weather I can't control. Sometimes I want nothing to do with the rest of humanity. And then I remember, I have a commitment to make things better, and that generally means I can't live in a cave.

What I do have is a nice cave, high in the house, with a window for my cat. She gets out sometimes to scout out the rest of the house, with an old black cat waiting to chase her back to home base. I have one place where I lay down every night. I have one set of keys in my pocket. This I like.

Facinating sadness, this one

It comes on like a sneeze
Of great length
Seizing my face up in an instant
The shame of it,
I think
Forehead in hand
Only a few tears eek out
But the sharpness of the pain is worth buckets
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