I meticulously scrub every last inch of the clean floor. Then I do it again because two is a lucky number. On to the windows.
The sills demand a toothbrush and dedication. The rugs insist on constant attention. I pick up errant ants in the cupboards.

I search for more dust or dog hair or whatever seems to clog the way, always using the preferred tool for each cleanup at hand.
Same treatment everywhere, every day. Counting and repeating ad nauseam. A compulsion, a genetic twist, a lifetime sentence.

So many people focus on finding love
I'm too busy finding myself

It is always darker, before the breakthrough.
It is always darker, before the healing take place.
It is always darker , before the daylight take place.
It is always darker, before you receive the present.
It is always darker, before you see the miracle.
It is always darker, before you finally receive the blessing.
It is always darker, yes it is always darker before the light.

I got no letters,
yet you gave me a long list of excuses.
No roses from you,
Yet you made me feel numb with the thorn of your words which pricked my skin
no sweet words but there were few sweet lies as I can recall

It was just a normal day.
It was a day to recall the slumbering moments of lies and bitterness.

But that was heart's day, yet all I got was hurt's day.

the trap is woven
a careless vibration warns
it's time for dinner