The wonder of connection that once was felt but now seems to be not stagnant, but simply... there. The wonder of what it would be like if I was looking in your eyes. Would I see what I feel and feel what I see? The ever present knowing that I do not want that day to come for fear that it will not be what I have imagined. I am not satisfied with what is current, yet cannot force the possibility of what could be. I cannot bring forth this drive to go where I know my path leads, choosing still to rest upon this broken tree that lays upon the road. Feeling each scaled piece of bark that is rough beneath my fingers, and being satisfied with the realization of texture because at least that reality is true for me. So, now, I choose my isolation, because this is safe. I choose my loniliness because this is absent of judgement. I embrace my own silence for fear that speaking will leave me misunderstood. I cry in solitude because sharing my tears no longer brings me closure.
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