A day in the life

Sometimes the moments in your life bleed into all the others. And soon all you’re left with is a huge, pulsating clot. You ask yourself, “Am I better off leaving the clot alone, or should I use a sewing needle on it?” Either way you’re looking at the possibility of infection, or continuing the flow that led you to this point in the first place. There really isn’t a whole lot of hope once the bleeding starts, unless you can somehow stop it before it festers.

Mine has festered for far too long. The moments of my life have circled each other, wrapped in a barbed sort of twine that never unravels without taking part of me with it. There is no way to separate the good and incredible times, from the life-sucking and completely horrible. Even my memories are tainted.

Every inclination to branch out, to break away, is somehow pulled back onto the barbs. Each time I try, I’m cut anew. And then the bleeding starts all over again.

And yet, the funny thing is, I still have hope.