The truth is I thought it would all be different. That it would end or not end and I wouldn’t care either way. It’s so scary to believe it might matter. It is so frightening to know I could be present with all of this and not numb it out. Not choke it off. Like that’s an option. One I always thought was kinda bullshit. Who doesn’t want the fuck out of this place more than half the time? Most of us do I think. We have not learned to live only to run, run, run. Bury, hide, lie. I see her smile in the bathroom mirror hanging over the sink. I see the lakes of gray pain in her wide wet eyes. Touch the glass. Fall through to the other side of the mouth of the fear. I like the ones who dare at least to destroy the distractions. I have been so good at building them all my life. And underneath this white dome sky, breathing in the damp cold mean January air, I can sense those distractions for the ghosts they really are. Not out there or in here. But oh so haunting close by.