White on White

I think a lot about how I let my life get away from me. Most people I have known have disappeared and I have convinced myself I like it that way.
But not tonight.
Another night staring into the darkness, street light halos, headlights trailing, head in a box.
I accomplished so much recently but the feeling of satisfaction is fleeting. The shoe will drop. It feels like that at this moment. A long moment of bleak loneliness. A rock in the shoe. A splinter deep in the forefinger. A scratch in the center of the back.
I didn't feel so free when I could see, but I would give anything to be that again. The feeling of no future in my head then was nothing. I can see that now. I can see that now.
So many days the same. I feel so alone sometimes I find myself pouring out my soul to strangers who I know are unconcerned. The bottle cap so tight sometimes the pressure just explodes it in every direction. Then I feel embarrassed to appear vulnerable and vow never to do it again until I do.
It all feels so isolating. Like I can't really connect to anything that isn't floating around in my own fucking head.
If I don't think it, it doesn't exist.
I don't exist
I won't exist
I can't
because I am a thought I haven't had yet.