Sometimes I look up at the stars. It’s incredible how small they are from where I’m standing. But there’s an entire universe, and I’m as small as that star just on this earth alone. I’m waiting to find something that makes me feel bigger, fuller, purposeful. I fear it’ll never come.
Sometimes I stare straight ahead, mind gone. It’s wandering around somewhere and I couldn’t care to find it. It eventually returns, leaving me foggy, having learned nothing from it’s brief escape. I fear one day it won’t return or that it just won’t learn anything anymore.
Sometimes I just sit on the couch, unable to move. Whether I’m paralyzed by physical or mental pain is irrelevant. When I finally move again, my body is rigid. Stiff from being in one spot too long. My hips are tight and I walk with a limp until they’re loose enough to appear normal. I fear one day they won’t loosen and my body will age prematurely.
Sometimes I just sit and cry. Alone in my car, alone on the couch, alone in the bathroom. Always alone. I fear the sadness and loneliness will become too much.