Alt .End

Every now and then, I find myself waking up.
Eyes open to scars and souvenirs.
I find myself stretching and yawning.
Sleep walking through my life.
There are times when I rub my eyes and look around.
I look at my life up until now.
I stare into the distance and think about what still waits.

Most nights I am content with being one.
Other nights, I am tempted to open my chest and offer myself to those I would be willing to do so with.
But that Fear always walks with me.
Closing my mouth, shutting me down.
Bouncing between feeling nothing and everything.

Mornings are always mornings.
The coffee's always black.
And there's always miles to go before I sleep.
Always.
Always a Long, Cold, Dark just up the road.
The only thing that isn't a constant is whether or not I choose to travel it alone.