I feel the creeping of the dark. It's cold winter fingers caress the hairs on my legs leaving a lingering cold on refrigerated skin.
   I sit in this lonesome living space after dark just texting away a piece of me as I free flow these thoughts with opposing thumbs.
   Like the cob webs in the corners, sit the the memories of my past. The regrets of my past and present. The passing thoughts of regurgitated paraphrases spoken time and again.
   What do I truly regret?
   I have made well as I can the words I've spoken. Hell, words I've written.
   I live in an entirely new dimension.
   What they knew of me could no longer be.
   What I was, I am no longer.
   Maybe some of my best parts are still intact but I am not the way they knew me.
   My progress cannot be marked by memory.
   It doesn't serve me to be anything they remember.
   My truest self is new.
   I am not the same.
   How could I possibly be?
   It is funny really how many times we think the world has stopped. How often we have all felt like the center of the universe. How many times we have thought we were carrying the very world that others were stepping on.
  As if we were pulling on the very leads that turn this rock.
  And when the walls came crashing down, how we kept paddling, just treading water as the center of the ocean just sent waves upon us.
   How couldn't we gain strength from it?
   I, like you, struggle with daily motivation. I used to write here on the daily. Interact on the daily. 
   I used to feed you my soul, and then, I started hiding the best pieces of it for myself. My greedy little self.
   Love is the most important part of me.
   It isn't given freely.
    It is unconditional.
    I love what we were.
  I love what we could have been, and even more, what we truly are now.
  It all goes down the way it's supposed to.
   Regretting nothing, I accept the cold feeling of this space. Drink my poison and awaiting the inevitable. It's warmth is temporary.
     My love is not. It is forever yours. Wanted or warranted.