Halves
I don’t know you anymore, and you don’t know me anymore either. Glass half empty or half full? There’s a yearning, not the physical, not the romantic, but some kind of yearning. This is not where I want to be, but I cannot run away without feeling guilty. It’s suffocating. Restricting. And all of these makes me sad, but I try my best to pretend that it is OK. But if I don’t leave now, will I ever get to? That Scares me. I’ll see a picture of a place far from here, a city different from where I am living right now and I imagine all the things that I would do. And then it will hit me, the uncertainty of things, that I may never leave and it is just unfair and heartbreaking. Words are hard to come by. I’ve been trying to find the right words, but they are jumbled up, leaving me in a more confused state. I’ve been tiptoeing on things for years, cautious, trying with all my might to sort everything out, but there is too much mess. It’s always half and half, never whole. A part of me wants to say yes, a part of me says no. The other half wants to go, and the other half wants to stay. I always contradict myself. Taking a step forward and then stepping back. I have this never ending hope, and thank god I do, because it keeps me away from lunacy. I want to do my best wholeheartedly, without any half of me being reluctant, without any guilt.





