A sentence day….


My eyes are hardly open too tired to remain in the glaring light of day.  They close the curtains, sleep to come soon as my fragile uncertain countenance treades upon its measured day. 

I am not wanted, but do I want?  Can there be one without the other? Desire, does it have even a flicker within me?  Does this rendition of me even remember how to whisper what I long  for?  The words of longing, those earstwhile breaths of desire always dry brittle in my mouth. 

I drift to sleep…what dreams may come sowing their feathery light seeds of longing and need. What day to wake to… What desires will precede me into the dawn’s newly minted morn?  Reflection in the evening bears hope to a steadfast new day. It is here. So am I. I feel not wanted, do I want?


The morn broke early. The sky painted grey yet with hints of blossoming to come in the glorious light rays. As I hurry passed the mirror on my well worn morning jaunt I glimpse a shadowed  echo of the essence of my being, afraid to be caught.  Its existence reminds me of the exiled in my life, the ones in the shadows pushed to the sidelines forced by  fears of potential strife. I am wanted, but do I want?

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