The Stream Flows…

A s I sit here, I’m shown that my only reminder of you is the daily anxiety I live with.

Fond memories are a catalyst to biological turmoil these days.  I feel shackled in a dark room, surrounded by all the reasons I don’t want to let go.

How does one stand when they have trouble breathing?

The Stream Flows…

The lines on the road are blurry again and I’m beginning to doubt if anything in my life is stationary any longer.

The pressure is immense.  Success means I’ll have accomplished something tangible,  something permanent.  I don’t even recall what that feels like anymore.

Here’s hoping my resilience holds.

The Stream Flows…

Five hours in a cold room and the answer was scribbled out before me.  I’d be lying if I feigned a lack of concern.  The fragility of my existence was clear before me.. clear, but beautiful.

If the cost of stability is the colour in my soul, I may not be willing to pay…

One moment, taken twice a day is the rate of my exsanguination.  I will do anything to stop the flow…