My Little Sheltered Delusions

If there were ever a compilation of mourns and rants produced, I guarantee you, this would not be one of them. It's not long, it's not clever, it's not intense, it's not angry, it's not happy, and it's definitely not brilliant.

I'm done.

I've taken all that I can handle, and now I just want out.

I want to be gone.

I want everything to be fresh.

I've given, taken, agreed, approved and walked away bitter. If you consider life a game, the 4th quarter just ended. I wasn't even close to the last quarter, but I think I'm passed the point where I even care.

I played out of my league, out of my style, and out of control.

I'm not the type of person who goes after things. I'm the type who lets life wash whatever tidbits in me that has no longer use.

When I got off my little island to pursue things not so dead and rotting, I discovered life is a little deep.

I can't swim.

I am drowning.

I can only hope that someday destiny will bring me back to my little piece of dry land, where things may not have been good, but at least I could breathe. I must wash all memories of this nightmare out of my mind. I must go back to my little sheltered delusions. I must return to the oblivion that was.

And yet, who am I kidding? It can't be.

No matter how much sun courses through my body while I'm sprawled on the sand, the vision of the water will never disappear. It will haunt me.

What if I had made it?

What if things had worked?

What if life had gone my way?