Tightrope

Head down. Watch my feet, they move, forward, one step at a time. Head up, and I see I've gotten nowhere, that I'm still in the same place. How can that be? How can I be moving forward, but getting nowhere?

Not living anymore, purely surviving, breathing, because that's what I'm supposed to do. Supposed to be tough, strong, get through anything. It's who I am.

Or who I was. I'm not strong anymore. I'm broken, completely, and thoroughly. I wake up, and sigh, because I've woken up. Each passing minute is a draining. I don't know how many more minutes I can force my way through.

No more tears.

I've grown tired of this world. Plainly put, I am unhappy, uncontent, and unwilling. And ashamed of myself for not being strong enough anymore. I walk a very thin line, which grows more thin with each day that passes. On one side, survival, breathing, more of the same. On the other, the end.

Of everything.

When?

When I can look back and it doesn’t hurt me to do it,
When I can think of you with only fondness,
When I can see you and see only a friend,
When I can look back on what we shared and treasure the memories,
When I can see things with new eyes and put the past down to experience,
When I can hear your name and hear only that, a name,
When I can hear your voice, but not miss it once it’s gone,
When I can smile, and mean it, and not want to weep,
When I can want someone else and not want them to be you,
That’s when.