Each night, I’m tossing and turning while staring up at the ceiling, back and forth, playing tug of war in my mind without a winning side.
My starless eyes are bloodshot as I lie, paralyzed with these two AM thoughts.
The fear of being left behind slowly Creeps in, seeping through my bedroom walls until it permeates my entire being.
I have no energy left to give except for head nods and agreement.
I fear that I don’t possess any more fake smiles to dispense nor advice to shed.
So when they ask me how I am, I will tell them that I’m growing weary in my bones, that
my soul is spent from pretending that I am somebody of sophistication.
I will admit that I want back the life when I never felt the need to prove myself to anybody.
The truth is, I am a hollow seashell,
with the life drained from her on their shore, sinking rapidly beneath tidal waves, I feel a vacancy that won’t easily be filled, and I fear it never will.
