fermata

I sob for

something I think I

hate, but cry "no no no"

when asked if I

want to quit.

Because I just can't.

There is no

possible way

that I could quit.

I mean quit?

That's a big word.

Big idea.

And just when I

think that it's too

much for my little

brain to comprehend,

the idea doesn't

seem so bad

after all.

But the thought

of it still makes

me burst into tears.

Parting with something

that brought life to

my smile for so long,

but now it's just faded.

And sometimes,

I hate it.

I hate what its turned

into, the built up anger

that I think will be

relieved, but really it's

just released through

banging and screaming

every time I make a

mistake. I hate that

it causes me agony and fear,

agony for the present and

fear for the future, but I justify it

by saying that it's not all the time,

even though it really is. I hate that

the passion is gone, the flame quenched,

but I need it to hunger for more, I need

it to yearn for me

and my happiness that

has disappeared.

I hate that

I hate it,

and that no matter

how much I

hate it, I

won't quit. But

the decision will

haunt me from

the back of my brain

until I do quit, because

as terrifying as it

is, it's probably the

right thing.