this this this

this is more than i can preside over. would you like to take a number? have a seat? we'll be with you soon?

it's him and her and her and her and her and her and her and them and them. but mostly it's me. i mean, i guess maybe it's only me.

maybe i'm all i can know? maybe. maybe that's more accurate.

he used to ask if i'd only come because he'd manifested me, or had i been on my way all along and he'd simply divined it. i never had an answer for him. it seemed like the line between my free will and his desire for me had blurred. i couldn't tell if i was there because he'd willed me to be, or if i was meant to be there all along.

all things feel like this now.

everything sounds more dramatic than i intend for it to sound. everything feels more dramatic than i intend for it to feel. this this this moment feels like nothing else. and the next and the next.

this gets easier. this becomes a thing that i can manage. all things eventually become a thing that i can manage. repeat repeat.