I feel dusty.

Like the salt and pepper keys that have stayed quiet for sometime now.

In a black tomb like a fellow fiddle.

Other strings are where I last left them, secured on the sidelines.

Maybe I’m caked with doubt and insecurities.

I see the world around me changing, though I know

I’m still uncertain.

I see all the things I am and not.

But why should I care for this eternal wallow?

If there’s anything I can currently live for,

It’s every deep breath.

For that’s when I restart.

The battle to keep what I want continues.

I may be resting,

But I’m not done.