#gadea m.

[antigonies]

I am becoming more unknowable with age. 

I see my friends less, pretend to be ok with it. 

Sometimes I almost am, especially on Mondays.

 I never expected growing up to hurt like this, 

I mean, so ordinarily. I wanted thunderstorms 

before the great epiphany, not this constant 

toothache, a Sunday afternoon in every second. 

I am sorry for the love, the waste. 

The years of compromising, most to come. 

In the spirit of October, I want to say what's haunting me, 

but it's October itself, the past, the fallen lovers,

 the ghost courage. (So many things hurt 

without even being there, because they are not there.)

You can hear it in the gentle howling of the wind: 

lonely, lonely, lonely. 

On most days, I have myself, and that is enough. 

Sometimes, not even that.