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.