Everyday is the same replay of the countless ones before. Flooding over my eyes as I wake releasing the pause button of sleep. The tape has rewound back to the start. Still waiting for the day that never comes when it finally frays and needs to be replaced. That "new chapter". That "new me" I always think will come. The hope of seeing my experiences out under the shine of glossy slick cardstock rather then a tangled coil of film. But it never does. My life is predetermined mimicking each slide of the translucent peice of plastic. Only within the scratched crinkles do I wonder if I can change only to be raked back from my wishful thinking. How long before this peice of film dies no longer able to play again. Let me use a new medium, document a different way of life to follow. One that can experience new things different from yesterday and tomorrow, this one is old it's time to retire. Take it out fold it up and store away not to be forgotten but not to be reopened.
This is sometimes how I've been feeling lately before but manly throughout Covid lockdown. I hope it made sense. And thank you to whomever is out there actually reading.
YOU ARE READING
Star-lit Conversations.
PoetryJust some late night thoughts accompanied by stars. I'm not a good writer but felt others might relate. Some are good others hold sorrow ***Should any of this be found triggering or dampen your mood please stop reading***
