You ask me whether I'm fine. I'm quick to jump into a yes like a cat when thrown a fish. The truth, the reality of my situation is something else. I'm more than what that single word ‘fine’ entails. I'm a thousand things but fine. Given a chance, I'd leave mindlessly, throwing caution to the wind. And I'd probably end up dead that way. The reckless often wind up either in an ether, a blackhole or shithole. Right now, I want to go atop a mountain and scream my guts out. Guts, they're hurting both physically and mentally. Yeah, guts have their own brain. No, I'm not another species, just human. I eat nonsense and crap tossed at me by random humans around. And weirdly enough, I store it in like a double-bagged, tidy, trash can. I'm good at so many things, I've got no clue what I can excel at. That makes my career a bottomless ship ready to careen right when it hits the sea. Lurking is what I do. Leaving is what I'm unable to. Loving you is what I can't stop, too. And this qualifies as a rant you're not eager to listen to. So you ask me whether I'm fine. Heck, yes, I am. Fine.

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I love to live like a hermit crab -- masking my tenderness beneath the hard shells.
~ I pretend to be hard to guard my tender heart.

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“A crab walks sideways and a hermit is secluded, yet they are both meant for each other.”

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