With this disastrous notion.
Of falling in love,
Or rather out of touch,
With self preservation.
That unique instinct
That keeps us safe.
Safe, cold, and detached.
A familiar existence.
Neither happy or sad,
Just comfortable.
Just existent.
Those repetitive chords,
On an out of tune piano.
Threatened yet again,
With another failure.
Only this time its obvious
That things won't even start.
So here I sit
Uncomfortable and vulnerable
Merely Existing.
