“When you ask me what’s wrong,
I don’t know how to answer.”

When you ask me what’s wrong, I honestly don’t know how to answer. I can feel that I’m slipping over the edge of an endless abyss. But I don’t know what awaits at the bottom. I don’t know if it’s just one of those chasms that makes everything disappear, or if it’s going to be something good. Like light. Or hope. Or, maybe, it’s just a means of breaking me down into my last remaining pieces, each one no bigger than a grain of sand. And here, at this edge, time seems to drag on as I try to hold on. I want to keep trying, but something is going to give and I know it’s only a matter of time before I sink.

© Sarah Doughty

How can I tell you what’s wrong,
when I don’t even know?

When I wrote this, I was reminded
of Bing Bong from Inside Out. That strange
cotton candy/raccoon/dolphin/elephant hybrid
that was Riley’s imaginary friend in her early years.
The Memory Dump, where old memories go to die,
was where Bing Bong selflessly and happily met his end.

Take her to the moon for me, okay?

2 thoughts on “Wrong”

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