Potential, I said

But somehow it feels like it's become a hole.
Of potential?
As if that could make sense somehow.

As if I have this promise. This depth of undeveloped-ness. And I keep trying to feed it with thoughts. With ideas. To make it grow. To give the potential its substance. But I don't know how. And it aches and yearns and hungers.
And the longer I go without giving it what it needs, the longer I let this void of maybe possibilty sit and gnaw and fester, the more it shifts.

Potential, I said.

I felt a sense of potential.

That was only days ago.



In a spare second today, I wrote in my Bible

Today I Feel...

 

in big, even letters.

I considered finishing the sentence once a week with a short answer. Never the same word twice.

An exercise in creativity

and self-understanding, I suppose.

 

And then I wrote the date.

 

1/10/13:

 

but I left it blank.

It was a good day.

I was working.

I'd left home in a good mood.

And though I wasn't getting any of my "real" work done, I was making money.

And the day had gone well.

 

I considered writing

 

1/10/13: Good.

or

 

1/10/13: Surprising.

It would have been a change amidst days where I would have written

 

anxious

angry

lazy

alone

desperate

incapable

 

 

But I didn't write anything.

And it stayed blank.

 

And still is.

 

 

Potential, I said.

 

But already, what is that becoming?

Regret?

A dream deferred?

Laziness?

An unexplainable.... lack?

 

 I can still feel it. That whisper of yes somewhere under the surface. Somewhere scuttling through my thoughts and chest and fingers. Something. But with every passing day it's lowering its head in disappointment, and I think
I think
I think
I'm losing it.