Prickly

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I used to come here when I was young

About a year-and-a-half ago

I had just quit my career and would sit on these rocks and listen to a podcast about depression

I felt like the broken glass next to the prickly desert cacti matched my demeanor

cacti

Now I’ve stumbled upon this little alcove and I remember what I was feeling back then

I was so lost and confused and angry

That hasn’t changed

But now I’m more comfortable with chaos and uncertainty

The seven seas don’t scare me as this boat continues to drift unmoored

Yet returning here, I feel older and I feel more disconnected

I feel more strongly than ever that I don’t understand anyone and that no one understands me

Putting the broken glass back together would be impossible

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One thought on “Prickly

  1. Deserts are beautiful, aren’t they? Almost barren, almost dead, but still nurturing all kinds of life. The life that’s tough enough to hold on.
    I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but your posts have gone a long way toward me knowing you, and frankly I’d like to know more. You write extraordinarily well. Your posts are a breath of fresh air in a world that I too am growing quite tired of. I’ll be watching for your next words. And I’ll appreciate them. And maybe I won’t understand you, maybe not completely, but I’ll try. Because maybe that’s all that any of us can really do for each other.
    Peace, drifter.

    Like

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