the art of abiding

and just like that, I woke up—

rubbing the Sandman’s butterfly kisses out of my eyes,

the residue tinged with regret

(but I couldn’t seem to flush it out).

I blinked, when once again I could.

once.

twice.

and once more in obligation.

I looked around at my home of a year

and realized;

I forgot to move in,

to

settle

into my life.

I declared it would be a stopping point-

I’m on my way to somewhere better.

except I guess I wasn’t.

so I sleep-walked a year away.

what is the half-life of regret?

if I find out, I’ll let you know.

how far is too far along the road to turn back?

and why does shame make the foot so heavy?

will pride even give me a choice?

it doesn’t want to.

can I make it?

I’ve never been a girl who knew how to unpack her bags,

how to stay.

disgustingly, annoyingly cliché; but true. drowning-me true. no-bridges-left-to-burn true.

but I think I’m ready to learn now.

how to stay.

I have to learn, or what will become of me?

I am a forgotten balloon.

I can feel myself drifting away,

so out of place,

and in need of anchoring.

desperate,

before the vast emptiness swallows me.

starting from within.

someone bring me back down to earth,

please,

I don’t know how not to be temporary.

maybe,

I’ll start by hanging a picture on my wall.