To sum up what I am feeling because I don’t feel like writing about it but at the same time I want to write about it:
I want a burger right now. A Mighty Angus from Maccas if that’s okay.
Why do I want a burger? Because eating that burger can apparently make me stop feeling that immense…are there words? Immense anger, regret, sadness, weariness, misery…and that hunger (both physical hunger and emotional).
Because I feel like I should be apologizing but I know that I shouldn’t be. Because I did nothing wrong except want, and worked for that want. I earned it. I deserve it. But I can’t have it this time, as I couldn’t have it the last time.
History repeats itself only in the bad bits. History took careful notes when it was still a young Present, and remembered. And with a menacing flourish, it hit me where I hurt the most.
And it’s not my fault. I must know this.
Maybe between the beef patty and the relish I can find the words I want to hear right now, “It’s not your fault, I am very sorry for what I did.” But not only do the pickles not talk, I don’t even have the burger. I don’t have the comfort that I am seeking right now.
I can’t be blamed for doing what I do, just like biscuits can’t become burgers, and wishes can’t become action.