Rory/Lorelai

I’ve got this first-world rain cloud that I keep standing under.  I feel like there is some sort of metaphorical infection living in my body and my immune system just can’t quite shake it. I want to be fine.  I really do.  But it seems like I just can’t get ahead.  So I keep treading water when I should be swimming the English channel.  And I don’t know who to blame.  Myself for not training or the channel for being so damn wide. 

And I don’t know why it bothers me that these words of mine are tripping and unwieldy where they should be witty and dancing.  I should be funny, self-sufficient, and confident.  I should be beautiful and compassionate and lofty.  I should be so many things.  But I never take the helm.  And then I wonder why life leaves me the first mate. 

Maybe I should work harder.  Maybe I should care less.  Maybe its all up to me.  Or maybe nothing is.  Maybe I could run away from it all, lose everything, and find myself.  Maybe.

 

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