Skipping stones

I am going back to bed in a few minutes, exam over. Time here practically over. The Arcade Fire lull me into complacency.

No, I'm not angry. Internally I completed the thought, at you. I wasn't angry. I was angry at myself, but I knew better. Mais, quand je suis monte par l'escalier, les larmes ont commance. Pourquoi? I don't even know. I really didn't. But suddenly I had broken. For good? That is something that time will tell. Frankly, oh god so frankly I am glad. I have been waiting. I hope that this is it.

I deeply believe that he cursed me that January day. Since then, I have been flailing, faltering, drowning in something I cannot even begin to explain. Something I cannot begin to escape. I have stopped hoping, started coping. Coping badly might I add.

My shoes let the water in and smell like a swamp. I have searched for new ones without any luck.

My thoughts are disjointed and skip across the surface of my mind. Stones. Stones that eventually lose their purchase on its sticky skin and catch an edge, breaking downwards. They plunge wrecklessly into its depths, tumbling and flipping through the liquid mass. As the light grows dimmer, fruitlessly shining through layers of memories and days of neuroses, they lose their shape, their coherence. Finally they reach the murky bottom. Settle silently in the mud. subsumed by years of knowledge that has never proved its worth. Is this poetry? I can see them in my mind's eye. Skipping stones.