It's always hard to pick life up from where you left it.
by Jane Tomlin
To continue the thread, never-ending, never faltering.
Picking up the pieces of your existence from where they were left scattered on the floor.
Back to work, mundane and mind numbing. Beavering away like it's the only thing we can do with our time.
It's hard to realise you're back looking at your bags still packed on the landing not being able to bring yourself to empty them out and let your hopes disappear.
Looking round and noticing, nothing has changed. Constantly looking for a shred of excitement, exhiliration beyond nothing else.
Wishing and wanting so badly to have never returned, to be faced with no job and no home. A simple life is all I ask for. A beautiful cottage in a breathtaking location. Why does life have to be so complicated?
Why can't we live each day doing what we love most with the people we care for.
The simplest choices seem so complex now, were we right.
If only I could learn from my mistakes my own way rather than be dictated to.
Shall we cry for the time we've lost or learn and move on. Should our lives be halted by the passage of time.
Never remembering what you did from one day to the next, like on autopilot, only being a witness to our actions, having no influence on them.
Only picking up the pieces when we return to earth, finally having control.