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It's been a long year.

Drive slowly.

By Eleanor ValePublished 2 months ago 1 min read
It's been a long year.
Photo by Nathaniel Flowers on Unsplash

Over the last year, my circle tightened. Not by choice, but by necessity.

It's strange how a year can feel heavy without feeling dark.

How it can stretch you.

Strip things away.

Force you to see what you didn't want to see.

I thought I was imaginng things at fist.

I told myself I was overreacting.

Too sensitive.

Too watchful.

But I wasn't.

The small betrayals. The sideways glances. I kept thinking I was paranoid.

But I wasn't.

And that might be the real tragedy.

To know what's coming.

To feel it the way you feel a truck on the road before you hear it.

A vibration.

A warning.

A weight gathering speed.

You stand there anyway.

Not frozen.

Just honest.

Because part of you already knows how it ends.

sad poetry

About the Creator

Eleanor Vale

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