Repetition

Anxiety gets thrown out reckless, proven in social science to be nothing but a lie. Yet, I find myself jittery on every level, all my electrons are spinning in the wrong direction. This is what I have become from you. I walked down every street, giving away walkie talkies to anyone with eyes and a heartbeat, leaving with promises of quick calls. They all said they would let me know if they saw you. My stresses turn to paranoia, and I’ve have taken to wrapping gauze on the folds of my eyelids. When I was warned that it would keep me from seeing the sunset, I, instead, mummified every path in my way. To keep you at a distance, I have learned to remove myself from the crowds. I only leave the safety of my bedroom when someone calls me and lets me know you walked by. I can only live in the places you just visited — being your shadow keeps you from being mine. I try not to reek of double exposure, but I can’t help but notice that my passport has been stamped at all our memories, as you take her where you took me. I never found you to be original, in the way artists are original — not at all, but at least, not pretending to — but this, this threw me over the lines of sanity. I swam towards moving on, and got lost at how; I missed the exit of get over it, and kept returning to the dead end that didn’t even announce itself as that. Instead, it just said, happily ever after: this way here.