This is what faking it looks like

You may have seen me somewhere

Pretending I have my shit together.

When mostly what I have is half baked plans and remnants of useless tat,

that won’t work without the corresponding part.

And I think I lost that.

Those.

But still I hold on

to broken

pieces

and

thoughts

without need.

As if things:

jars, tupperware, torn clothes,

sheets, CDs, dried leaves

pages and pages of beautiful words

trapped in books I’ll never read.

And all the rubbish I still seem to stockpile, eternally.

As if things

will make me less alone.

As if

they will one day pile high enough to make me feel at home

in my skin

my head

my heart

my expanding, contracting frame.

As if

biding time,

Or

filling space

while I find somewhere to silently hide my pain.

Or

waiting

for someone

As if,

they’d find their way back.

Objects,

People.

They never do.

And I find myself sitting here.

And time stretches,

The gaps are longer now

between the flashes of you.

And

I am still missing you every day.

But the pain

it ebbs and flows

like you’re round the corner

just out of sight.

And I forget.

So there’s

another surge of hope,

a flickering light.

And then I remember

I’m chasing no one.

It’s just

Shadows,

Echoes.

That fade to nothing,

Then disappear into the night.