Lonely.
That is what this feels like.
On one hand I want to cry, and on the other I simply watch as spectator, wondering why I can’t get anymore than a gathering of tears in my eyes.
Truly, it is the wrongest time to feel detached, as this is happening to me.
In real time.
I often have to remind myself that.
And then I catch myself wondering how others who have gone through same felt.
I realise it is what would have birthed the hate for many to this.
And then I catch myself, again, because that is once again, regarding it in dismissive manner.
But it is my reality.
I don’t forget that, but all my actions to welcome an end to this all feels like an advice to a friend.
Where you are touched, but in truth, untouched.
Except, it is just me, and I am touched. So I should be touched.
I prepared for this. I just did not prepare.
I imagine I would feel the pain in coming days.
My body will demand the tears, and it will come.
on befores, in detached anticipation for an unknown after.