packed bags

i'm leaving. this. alone.

i'm dealing with the reality that you don't have time for me, or us.

(whatever form of us that exists in my mind or fact).

overextended and alone.

it's no longer enough to hold onto your breadcrumb trails.

i've got records to make, life to rearrange, people to call, shows to attend.

but i do love you.

but you knowing has been the problem all along.

in waiting, i've continued to keep myself, sick as inevitability dictates.