And I'm remembering. I'm remembering what it felt like to have some one matter to me, and I felt myself matter to them, so much so that when I stopped mattering to them in that way, I felt it, mourned over it, stayed in the wake of it, maybe for too long. Recalling that I was in the right, maybe not in the middle, not in the end, but somewhere, I was transparent enough to be seen, and that was good. And I will do it again, I will feel it all over, but hopefully I'll worry less and surrender more.
I don't feel like an artist. I don't feel like a musician or a poet or a performer or a writer or a friend, which makes me feel like I'm not doing my job.
It's a fragile state, choosing to search for even a shadow of greatness, only feeling like I'm getting it wrong, and trying to shut out the possible conclusion that, hell, I might never get there.
And we are so fragile, And our cracking bones make noise, And we are just, Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.