It's not that the universe doesn't have its ways of showing me exactly where I stand and what to expect, but the truth is that it's me who creates the avenues for these things to happen. I'm always the one to fire the opening salvos, and who can I blame but myself when I am met with disappointment? I should be used to it by now. Early Sunday, as I came back home and got to bed just before the sun started to break, I -once again - entertained the idea of just... disappearing. And if I did, who would miss me? Who would notice? To be sure, a very small portion of people would know first hand, but not many. A few. I think I'd try to explain my reasons. Maybe I'd just say my goodbyes. But I'd be no more than a distant memory, in time. My name but a sigh in the wind. There are things I just can't put myself through anymore. I can't see that look of disappointment on someone else's face again. I can't hear 'maybe we should just be friends' again. I'm tired, and I'm old, and I don't like it here anymore. There's nothing left in me, nothing left to give. I shan't offer myself up this way again, and who would welcome a puzzle, anyway? Especially one with missing pieces and pieces that don't fit anywhere. I'm too much, I'm not enough, what a let down. To think I once thought myself poetry in motion. But in truth it's the kind of poetry that has bad grammar and comma splices. Dangling participles and run-on sentences. Plural problems and incorrect tenses. Everything is wrong. I'm wrong. I'm inadequate. I don't make sense, someone who doesn't like to take pictures doesn't make sense, who would want someone like that? Who would miss someone like that? No one.
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