Sylvia Plath
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| How lonely. The ghosts wash up on shore. |
I have been feeling dulled down lately. I've been written with too much and no one has taken the time to coax me into a fine point again.
I felt angry, I felt bitter, I felt lonely, I felt stretched. I feel numb.
Nothing is sets me alive lately. I maintain a distant detachment, a comfortable hollow, a manageable and reassuring ache.
Occurrences that would have normally set me on fire can't even get a simmer going. I can make new, wonderful friends, I can simply demolish all of my school work, I can feel the love radiating from my family, but it doesn't make me happy.
I'm not inspired.
I'm setting goals and reaching them, emotionless and drained.
Something is missing.
My edges are raw from longing. For something I can't put words to.
I want something, I need something, but I don't know what.
I need to incorporate more time for myself. I need to work out, I need to write, I need to read for fun, I need to cross something off my bucket list, I need to finish my crocheting project, I need to get adequate amounts of sleep, I need to eat better, I need to produce art, I need I need I need.
Maybe if I do these things, I will come closer to the answer.
As for now, someone tell me I'm here.
This post is choppy like my thoughts at the moment. Also, this is the reason for the 'Sparks' posts. I need a reminder and a time of reflection.
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