Life is always moving on, moving away from me, clocks are ticking, the days and months of this year are steadily over and done before I even realize the date. I get so down on myself sometimes, disappointed at where I'm not, all the places and things I've wanted and haven't actualized; possible and impossible, regrets are mostly all the same. All the words and images inside me, colors, shapes, they're trapped, wasted, forgotten before they've ever lived. It's getting a little better though, I'm a little further along from where I've been standing. Sometimes this quick sand seems like an optical illusion and I chastise myself for not forcing my way through and out.

Every little thing down to the smallest of details is a fight to the death these days.

There's an itch, a growl slowly creeping overhead today, an old familiar friend I've been missing. My hands tremble at the thought but I'm careful, if I reach too soon I'll lose it. If I scratch too anxiously, I'll damage it. Feed it too much too fast and it'll burst. I try not to swell with a hopeful longing, it's been fleeting and fickle for so long, this time like all the others there's no guarantee. I'm owed nothing.

But I do need this, maybe more than ever.

No matter where or when or what context, every person and every home; every car with all its people, driving or being driven, old or young. Who takes care of you, or do you take care of yourself?

There are so many words and I always want to let them out. The tunnels that should connect my head and my heart to my mouth have always gone through my fingertips instead. I don't think that's a new development, I was maybe even born this way. Maybe the condition has been worsened over time, thinking I'd be laughed at or brushed aside but I know how different you are. I see it and feel it and as much as I want it to be true or to just accept that it is true, still my mouth is on lockdown, access denied. Maybe it will get better with time, maybe we can rewire my insides, you and I. Or maybe I'll write you letters, an explanation of my every days and every nights and an outline of my every sighs.

I'm scared I can't keep going and it's not that you aren't enough, you're too much but I'm too much too.