Partial Thoughts

Fragmented phrases have become me. I know what I want to say, but I cannot decide how to express it. I feel myself reaching, straining to find the most appropriate word, but in my groping, I grasp only wind and I feel myself losing control. I am sinking. But I said I wouldn’t sink again. I’d like to believe this is progress, and I’d like to believe that somehow things are getting better. But when I look in the mirror I see the same dim reflection of someone who might have been alive once. Who am I becoming? Have I painted on the mask required to fit a certain role? Or am I becoming someone more beautiful? No. I feel myself becoming like a chameleon, throwing on the right colors to belong, and changing with the scenery. What color will I wear tomorrow?

My thoughts are incomplete. Words enter my mind in code, as though I’m catching only glimpses of a frequency. I can’t hear the whole story, and so I feel as though there’s something missing- missing in me, missing in my life, missing in my relationships. Why am I so careless? Why do I put myself in conversations that don’t produce life? Why do I spend time worrying about things that don’t matter at all?