The Present

I feel really raw, really present. More so than I can ever remember. But it isn't like they all say. The present drags on. It doesn't give any gifts. I make up crafts for myself to do so that I can notice the time passing and the seasons changing. I buy groceries and try new recipes, only to throw out food because time won't pass fast enough for me to get hungry enough to eat it all. No one comes to me to stay. I am present, alright. Like the axel of a wheel. Things are happening around me, happening to other people, and I stay put, just connected enough to not be able to complain. What happens next? What happens next?

I can smell tears in my nose. I wonder if I am supposed to cry.