Why do I choose eyes half shut and feel surprised when things seem grey and I have no vision?
Why do I choose heart half closed and wonder why I can’t love; why my words tear down more than build up?
Why do I choose hands half clenched and feel surprised when they are empty at day’s end?
Why do I choose seconds upon minutes upon hours of procrastination and wonder why my roots are so covered in sediment that Light can’t nourish them anymore. Then blame you for my brown-edged blossom. Though really I know I blame myself. Shame seals the sediment, and I accept the half-life. Continue reading