A Letter From Self

I suppose the ideas of doubt can be debilitating. Then again, the feelings of worry are real to me and hence, life without you is strange enough, let alone life on the fly is just life on the fly.Or am I out of my mind again?Am I too vague again or too crazy this morning?I suppose I am.But who isn’t? Maybe this letter from me is more to vent than it is for me to reach you. Or maybe reaching you is more important to me than air, food, water, and the sense of touch.In fact, I can say that yes; reaching you would mean the world to me.But then again, you are elsewhere now and on the other side of the world, which is odd enough because the truth is you are nowhere different from where you’ve always been (in my head)Or maybe I am being too sensitive again.Could that be it?Wait, no . . .Maybe I am worrying about the downfalls and thinking how the critics have never been on my side to begin with.Perhaps I am tired and thus, I am not myself this morning.But who is? The hours at night are long…