I need time, to think.
To write, to put my feelings into words that make sense, or don't.
To bring out what was suppose to be laid on the table eons ago.
To reach out to parts of me that even me myself cannot reach.
To feel it physically, to express all that I actually felt deep down.
To push myself, not forward, but simply from falling back down, again.
To tell myself, it is time to resolve what needs to be resolve.
To force myself, to not withdraw again.
To not hide, or postpone even if it's done consciously.
Somehow, to put yourself in dark hole, waiting for the ultimate moment, when the time is finally ripe for doing what has to be done seems rather ironic. Everything was done under your very own conscience, the delay, the anticipation that you rather not have, the dreading minutes you hoped so much would just fly by unnoticed. But they won't, they never do, and never will.
So live with it.