Sitting, staring.. picking pieces of myself off. Watching them as they circle the air around and fall before me. I'm having a worrisome time controlling all these cuts.. like a vase surviving a drop to the ground, I'm still not quite the same. Trying to make things not obvious. Trying to make things.. somehow better than they were before.

Am I repeating history?
Am I too exposed? Naked?
Am I the only one feeling something?
Am I thinking too much?
(..I know it shows)

With all these small cracks around my body.. any slight pressure makes them build even tinier slivers. Real or imagined, the force I'm feeling from you is bound to break me in two. Will you be around after to pick me up? To build me back into something to your liking? Or will I be left, scattered across the floor, waiting for the next willing hand to put me back together?

Remember. Patience.
(two words I never quite understood.)
They hang below my neck, to the side of my heart.. for as near they are to my existence, they couldn't be less than galaxies apart.

"All the things you said to me last night- they closed my eyes instead of opening my mind. Maybe talking less and doing more will bring us back to where we lived before."
- Hooverphonic.