I've grown tired of all the songs stuck in my head.

The sound of my grumbling stomach no longer echoes a familiar melody. Spots in my vision, or lack thereof, no longer comfort me with fantasies of fairies and magic. There was a time when I had hope.

Now, I wait.

All of my goodbyes have been said, though there was no one here to acknowledge them. I have apologized, thanked, prayed, hoped, cried, and let go. Do not mistake this for peace. I have simply accepted this solitude.

There is no time here. No feeling left in my feet or knees. No more sensation to inspire a stretch or a wiggle. Stillness. Constraint.

I have come to wonder when this will end. When I will end. If I knew how I got here. If I knew where I was, beyond the idea I've patched together between bouts of insanity, I might be capable of calculating the timeline.

Facts turn over in my brain, my senses zeroed in on every smell, every sound, but they only lead to hopelessness. I only pray this failing vessel falls fast so I may be set free from this involuntary solitude.

Photo from Unsplash

Hi, I'm Amelia! It's nice to meet you.

I'm a writer, minimalist, tiny home dweller, and maker living in East Tennessee, USA. My blog has lived at www.amelia-bartlett.com until I discovered Steemit, where I now post most of my work. To learn more about me, check out my introduction post, get up-to-date on my school bus tiny house conversion, and follow me for articles on slow living, sustainable fashion, self-expression, and quality curated resteems!

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