I live in a constant place of dread. Somewhere down in the pits of my stomach rocks form daily, eating me alive and wearing down my soul. They take up every available space inside of me, filling me with useless piles of worry, watching in silence as I suffocate. They drag me down to the floor and anchor me, until I harden every layer of my being and become one of them.
I live in a perpetual state of waiting. I sit on my couch and watch the minutes pass by on the clock, my fingers moving up and down, counting every second. My head is filled with calendars, I mark down every date in my mind and don't go. I don't do anything. I sit. I wait. For something. For anything better than this.
I exist only in the eventuality of my self-demise. When I finally wreck my life to pieces so hard even she can't even fix it. When the stones in my stomach and the calendars in my head crack open and spill onto the rotting earth below me.
I live in my own fear, and there's nothing I can do to escape it.
YOU ARE READING
perpetual state of dread
Short Story"I used to be able to find the falling stars in her smile, whenever the camera snapped, whenever alcohol met her lips, whenever a sunset graced the sky. I used to be able to find every falling star in the sky within her smile, but every star burns...
