Sometimes, I wonder if I’m a bad person. Usually when I feel twisted about inside. A sense of endless distraction finds me lying prostrate on the floor. My ungoverned hurt manifests as aches all over my body. A bad person is someone who makes it impossible to long for them. Their heads feel like bursting, their shoulders ache, and their legs are drained of strength. They’ll spend a day prostrate, maybe even a week. Until they hear a pop in their heart. Until they think there is nothing more to lose. Until they walk back the long way they came in solitude. That is the person I am, someone who
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