Maybes

Maybe.
Maybe I won't say everything I would like to.
Maybe I'll talk about "life" instead of the other l word.
Maybe I'll tell you all about how I'm finally getting my finances in order.
About how I'm moving to a luxury apartment next month.
About how I'm clearing up my credit.
About how I have a fancy job title.
About how I'm a big girl now.
About having extra money to blow on designer labels.
About how responsible I am.
About how I work and take care of myself and pay my bills on time.
About how I clean my apartment daily.
About how I cook real honest-to-god dinners.
About how I pursue personal interests rather than staying in bed all day.
About how much I've changed.
But this would just lead me to talking about how all this responsibility still leaves me with too much time to think as I eat my dinner alone and climb into cold clean sheets to dream about things that are much too painful for waking hours.
Don't get me wrong...
I'm more than happy.
I've never felt so good about everything.
Except for that mother of all maybes...
A couple hours relief.
A morning spent diving into my work with everything I can muster.
And at the end of the day the ache is back and worse than ever.
Feels like someone carved my lungs out and I'm left with a hollow throbbing rather than breath.
But I smile.
And take care of business.
And occasionally my mind will wander...
and I'll wonder...