Patterns

I used to have so much thought and emotion each time I wrote, but now there is nothing more than an empty void. It’s a strange feeling, like ¬†being numb and yet still understanding who you should feel but can’t.

Still I sit and see all the faces, the smiles, the tears, the hungry eyes lusting over something that will never be theirs and there’s not a thing I can do about any of it. Not a single thing.

In recent times I have been seen plenty that usual y catches my attention but the mood is fleeting, more so than it has ever been before because not one person is able to hold my attention and that’s my fault. We all have patterns you see, patterns of people we associate with, people we can pick out, people we instantly know because they are a part of the pattern and because of that we learn nothing new.

We all have patterns, comfort, safety and as good as it is, it holds us back… it holds me back, yet I willingly choose to stay hoping that the effort I put in will one day finally get me to the place I desire, but that’s not my pattern, it never has been. Self sabotage for reasons unknown, that’s my pattern. ¬†What’s yours?

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