Never quite enough

Tonight I type away feeling empty and disconnected, foreign to any emotion I've felt before. This feeling is unique in a sense that, it doesn't hit as hard as say, anguish or regret. It doesn't pull the edge of the lips ever so downward like grief or hopelessness. But it has the traits of tugging, grabbing, pulling downing feeling of hopelessness. It's there, but not quite to be labeled as that.

It's the end of a dizzying, energy sapping but highly productive week for me. Thrown in it are cameos of an out-of-place muse that playfully and refreshingly inspires me to power through what could have been a purely stress laden minefield of a week.

Yet it doesn't end so well. This playfulness is tethered with irresponsibility and disregard. It's reminds me a beautiful car riddled with unending mechanical faults.

The shady-ness of this story's setting. The rise and fall of of it's unfolding events. The high and the crash of intertwined emotions. This thrill ride in itself is something I've lost patience for. These days, a steady pace and gentle slope to the top is something I have traded everything else for, romance included.

And so I cling to the pillows around me ever so tightly. I resign to covering myself with a blanket barely enough to keep me from the freezing chill of my bedroom's old AC. I have become attached to being alone. The sadness of my sorry state kicks in but not quite. Not enough to put on a full frown. Not enough to shed a solitary tear. Not enough to bring my lonely spirit down. It's never quite enough to affect my tired and worn out heart.

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