Dear Sylvia

Dear Sylvia  

I am listening to the bray of my heart and I am,

I am,

I am, ok.

I am eating breakfast as if it were my last and not feeling the slightest bit elated.

I am a man in baggy black workwear on the tube annihilating a bag of family sized popcorn 

I am listening to your words and wishing I could adhere

I am living my days to the fullest and hoping

I am waiting for a train that hopefully will never turn up 

I am wondering if it’s possible I will feel this way forever, and if so, I am feeling hopeless.

I am.

I am staring at your smug pouting mouth and knee highs whilst wishing you adversity; unfortunately 

I am wishing ill upon all as I reach three-day-hangover territory. 

I am wishing I hadn’t seen you today using the tone that only I can stop you employing.

I am staring into space and asking myself repeatedly, what am I going to do now?

I am still the reindeer stood coyly at the buffet table.

I am trying.

I am.

I am.

I am.

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