they say that when one door closes,
another opens. and i've always been-
professed to be- an optimist.
(i'm not an optimist. i'm really
not an optimist at all).
the thing is at the moment that doors seem to
be closing and with every clang shut the room gets
darker and it's harder to see, i guess,
to see where those open doors might be
(or if they even are at all,
says a bitter voice in the back of my
mind because self-pity is a thing that
often camps out in my
head right next to the "NO CAMPING"
sign). and i seem to be losing my
grip of things and they keep falling from my
fingers and i hardly notice till i look down at my
hands and see they're gone (and that's when i
scrabble around in the dark looking for them,
looking and looking and looking because i
hate losing things, i can't just-
i can't just lose them)

(except that apparently i can.)