I’ve always seemed to chant, “Everything is a state of mind”. It’s been the amen at the end of every relationship. A comforting reassurance that what you left behind was a mere blip of life experience. Turning the page, turning your cheek, turning things over to a new version of yourself to navigate a changed world. A new set of eyes. A new sense of touch no matter how numb you feel. Finding a taste for your new appetite. Hearing voices trade praise for blasphemous recourse, but at the same time a jeering encore from others.

State is a faucet for me. One that takes detrimental action to twist shut. I’m rusty in a lot of ways and difficult to polish into anything. I won’t budge and my pigheaded ideals will frustrate your hands until they fester and blister. But once you’ve grit your teeth long enough and exasperated all strength the faucet will close, dripping for awhile before lingering long enough to dry up forever.

That is the point where sitting alone somewhere with your thoughts you realize that person is no longer with you. You look deep down within for any evidence of repression. Repressed notions always have a way of camouflaging themselves in the fabric of memory, but telltale emotional indicators will always snitch their position. Think of a time when you were really happy. Still sitting alone?

Disintegration and then liberation. It may just be another placebo I’ve prescribed myself, but a month of grief succumbs in a flash with the realization of ones core conscious that everything really is a state of mind.

Life is just a grand opinion so skewed by what’s in front of us that mob mentality takes control. A hungry mob that cajoles you into wondering how you can’t do without when all you really were was alone in the first place.

Feeling like a mime who fills an imaginary glass with champagne.