Feelings stacked on the shelves, waiting to be picked up and cared for. While I sit away, content with my ignorance of them. Looking away even though I can see their shadow peaking from the side of my unfocused vision. Days later, I wonder at my neglect of them. Of this unfeelingness. Was I really content with this emptiness? Scared of a possible yes, so I grab all of those feelings and unfold them to catch up with what I've been missing.
In came the feelings of others, all of their brokenness they try so hard to make me miss, all of the hesitancy in them and the mask they've been keeping over their voice so they sound strong. I wonder again how have missed all of this? I look carefully and see ugly selfishness paving the way I've been taking. Knowing it's a part of me I can't wipe out and that it'll come back seeping in if I try to ignore it and pretend it's not there.
All of those connected and disconnected matters following a pattern too clear for me to miss. Pretense. So easy to keep up and pretend it's not there. Pretending not to pretend, this is the status I've been living in lately.
