i was hoping that something would spark a fire in me to keep me alive 

he asked “why can’t we do this more often” and truthfully i didn’t know. i had always refused leaving the comfort of my solace laden solitude haven cover and i didn’t want to change the dynamic. i could’t deal with the change. he would have to go on alone until i’ve fixed myself

i went from feeling too much of the wrong thing; whipping lashes of hiding and sitting glued to the bathroom floor. a thin sheet of rug comforting my nerves. a faint light igniting them. 
to feeling the right things at the wrong time and being blind to anything besides what was straightforward; a daily numbing shot to the head that needed constant upkeep in a twisting sadistic irony. 
now i’m feeling nothing; no right at any time no wrong at any time. nothing. the tunnelvision i was cursed with and had overcome became an opaque sheet of blank canvas between me and color. even worse than. i have to fight where i never needed effort before and those muscles are weak. they have no memory and no resistance to shape them.

so when again he asks “why can’t we do his more often” 
i will say that what is never done can never be often.

solace laden solitude haven 

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