i think i've lost my mind and then i find it again.
i'm sick of picking it up off the floor, dusting it off and putting it back. it's old, worn, torn, used, misused, trusted, hated, loved.
it's sick and sad and tired and eager.
it's old and young all at once.
it wants to know what it's like to let go, stay hidden, not be found.
lost forever in a world of dust mites.
it wants to know what it would be like to be found by someone else. to be put back in place by someone else, to be looked after by someone else.
it's holding out for that, my mind.