Seems like a stuck record really, but perhaps this time the melody will change and skip to the next track. Maybe this is just the eye of the storm, but I feel strangely calm, and strangely OK, bronchitis and break-up aside, of course.
Funny how I am only ever inspired to write when change precipitates. Perhaps change wouldn't need to come if I wrote more. But delving into the 'its' and 'buts' is hindering. I wonder how many cliches I can attach to these experiences. Cliches annoy me because they are so useful and hence overused, and hence are cliches. Almost circular, no?! I am not going to try to insert more into this post, because the second you try and think of them, the vanish like a thin mist in your mind.
To be alone again might not be so bad. Freedom of thought could return, and my wandering eye can be let loose once more, to wander, wonder and imagine. The air has been sucked out of my lungs though - a sucker-punch for sure (though again, bronchitis doesn't help, I was wheezy to begin with). I just wish I had seen it coming. But who sees the thief in the night, except for the cat?
My cat saw it. She bit him when he came over. I blurted out 'I love you!', and then hoped he understood it was aimed at her, not at him, although it was aimed at him too.
I wish I had anger to cling to, like a raft in this swirling water, or hatred, or something. Instead, I have antibiotics and a loss of appetite, the inability to cry and the desperate desire to go for a run. It helps that the messages for the past few days have been 'Do not be afraid', 'I will fight for you', and 'I keep my promises.' (one of which is that I will have an exciting life). So this is probably the reason for my serenity and sanity.
I count about 7 cliches, ignoring the overwhelming sense that this whole post is a cliche, having been written three times before, albeit, each time slightly different.
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