Note to Self...
...or selves. You can't always trust what people say, especially when they're in your own head.
If I was just to simply start writing, To get back in touch with a former friend, now hiding, What words would I convey? What report would I say? How would I choose to reach out as I lurch through this winter’s day. Putting pen to paper might yet bring relief, Allowing words to gently settle, like spent leaves on the street. How would I talk myself out of it? How would I put myself into it? What should I honestly share, As we go so separate on our way. Ask a simple question, hope to get a sentiment you could at least believe, but there’s still a sturdy voice with interest to deceive. Through which fissures do these vapours rise? Which me lends a half truth? Which me acts surprised, as I scratch another line? Ask another question, Looking for a statement you could, for once, believe. Yet once again this not the outcome I set out here to achieve. So much of the story was never my intention, So much that I’m thinking might be better not to mention, Even if it’s only me that sees. I can’t pretend to speak for everyone in here or claim that all are free.