hourglass

i haven't been here for awhile.

the furnishings are dusty and dull with age and disuse.

i feel dusty and dull with age and disuse, but perhaps it's just this little town.

i am back home. the town i grew up in.

the boyfriend none of you met has come with me and we're slowly curling at the edges like leaves discarded from their tree, crunching under the feet of those who pass us by.

this town is a rut, broken only by visits to the pub. there is no other form of nightly entertainment. the cinema closed down and it's never had a bowling alley, or shopping that stays open past midday on saturday. what a silly move for an alcohol junkie to make.

we return to melbourne in two days for a ten day ghost tour of our old haunts. he'll come back with me, but not in his heart. i don't blame him. mine isn't here either.

mine is scattered to the wind; rarely able to settle in one place for too long and i fear it has taken off again, to float around searching for something new, something shiny to set its sights on. only, i know it isn't doing that. it's sitting in a corner, staring at nothing. it's still in its pyjamas at midday, while chores remain unfinished. chores remain unstarted, for that matter.

everything has lost its lustre and the world is a boring, browny grey; a faded wood colour, not even pretty in its weathered beauty. just old. old and brown and so very slow to die.

i've given up on having dreams, on anything that requires motivation. leave me with my heart alone in the corner, i don't have the energy to care about anything. i don't want to care about anything. life is just a big old hassle, everything its own chore to tick off the list.

and i guess i'd best get started ticking.