So you soldier on, trying hard to make things important. But the distance grows, separate lives bound by total dependence. Never daring to speak, much less write, for fear of the words screaming back at you. So you make do with what you have, never really knowing if you were ever good enough. Bleeding through a pen, scribbling thoughts like dazzling diamonds.
So where do you go? You live in eminent domain, going neither left or right, forward or back. Feeling trapped, knowing you can never leave. Confession it’s said, is good for the soul. Yet you wonder, do you have any soul left? So you hide where you can. Seek droplets of affection where they fall. Preforming like a trained monkey dancing for change for someone else.