You know sometimes I stare blankly at spaces. Then I don’t see anything else besides the space. Like everything else are swept aside to a corner that I cannot touch, that cannot touch me. Ergo the numbness.
I hear you but I do not let you in. I cannot stand the noise because hearing it would make me feel again. Sometimes I prefer to be outside, not belonging to any thing, or any one, or any place; I am free. I am solitary. A little less alive but a little less concerned. A little less hurt by whatever’s thrown my way.
It doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything. It doesn’t mean I’m whining about my life again. There’s nothing more to whine about that hasn’t been covered. Someday, I’ll collect myself and make a stand. Someday, I’ll tell you why I turned my back from the that which I am supposed to uphold. Now is not the time.