Buried and Waiting

I’m down this rabbit hole for good if I don’t watch out. Buried. I’m somewhat buried or stuck underneath a memory I thought would be a reality yet I’m here waiting in line for my fortune. Apparently I think it’s you since I’m standing here amongst the other lost sheep hoping to believe in the magic of love or connection. It seems a bit nonsensical, doesn’t it? My future is this but I can imagine it as that, so what does that mean for the me I’ve created in your absence?  Am I fake, a tired facade left out too long, baking my bones against the white sun? I’m selfish and pointless and these words are a mess just like my brain and my heart and you sit and wonder if I’ll ever show up but I won’t not really because I’m sitting here waiting for you, wondering if you’ll ever show up.

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