Maybe Tomorrow.

I look around at a beautiful life
Been the upperside of down
Been the inside of out
But we breathe
We breathe

Yeah, we breathe. Every night, every single night, the godless minutes pass with excruciating slowness and I'm left begging to feel. I beg, and plead, and cry- just to be able to feel. Something, anything. Throw a bone at me, give me a little, don't abandon me, Hope, please don't. And even in this numbness, I can't stop deconstructing. Can't stop looking for signs, for meanings behind why I am this way- it just never comes to me. All I know is I find myself being able to empathize with why he may have chosen to die. And I never even knew him, hadn't heard of him till he was gone. And yet, I feel this affinity with him.
Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for all that I have, because it's a lot more than most people do. But it's a series of pyrrhic victories, pointless battles won, things conquered. For what?
I'm here, but I'm here for them- not me. Because I don't comprehend why. I could be standing at the sidelines, an anonymous observer of my own life. Although I'm controlling it.

I can't-won't- talk. There's little, if any, good that comes out of talking. I've exhausted all I had to say to anyone, and all I do is sit, and wait, and watch. And I still can't see anything.

So maybe tomorrow
I'll find my way home
So maybe tomorrow
I'll find my way home