Cravenly holding on when both should be letting go. 

It will get better. 

Struggling, wishing for the scenarios of rosier times. 

Hoping it gets better. 

Reality churns out a present of mediocre. 

It’s not getting better. 

Feeling panic and sadness, a demise is imminent. 

It must get better! 

Fade to black… 

Now, I’ll get better. 

Originally posted 7/23/2018 on I Write Her.

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