when you do not feel safe in your own skin, you are bound to struggle living a lone within your four walls. your heart feels more trapped then sheltered in its own ribcage; every breath you take feels more like an obligation than a blessing to be alive. you cannot reconcile with the person staring back at you from the mirror; as your shaky fingers outline your silhouette in the mist, an inner voice tells you that what you see is what you get. maybe this is the closest to an out-of-body experience you can get, the disconnection from being, here, in these moments – as you hear the curtains sway and the ceiling fan whirring on, and on. the world spins on its axis despite your existential conundrum to write yourself – into or out – of being. your clock still works. your wifi functions today, your friends went out to play; but your soul – it is sputtering like an old engine, unsure of purpose, in need of drive and a mechanic to revive it.
i am still waiting – but im no longer sure what for.
logically this is not the best thing to do. i am like a hermit crab shelled up, despite outgrowing its home.
i want to leave.
but not alone.
maybe i am waiting for a doorbell, a knock, familiar faces, your voice, greeting me from afar, the warmth seeping through my skin.