I guess I'll just sit and think of you.
Of my sorry existence.
Of my fear of it's demise,
of the resulting plunge into the dirt and unknown there after.
Of how I wished I were.
Smarter, stronger, quicker, wiser.
More beautiful.
More self-serving, or more self-less.
Something other than this uncomfortable in between.
Something other than me.
Loving some on other than you.
Knowing I've fallen or tripped,
maybe clumsily stumbled, the same way I always do.