just write something.
i told the truth two nights ago, a truth i didn’t want to tell myself or anyone else. something has shifted in the past year or two and i am a very different person than i used to be – i am probably closer to a version i only dreamed of, but as these things go, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be. i was warned and i did not listen – somethings, after all, do remain constant.
i’m not unhappy. it’s hard to be unhappy when part of you is just missing.
it takes the whole to take it all in, to breathe it through your veins, to let it seep into all of your cracks.
when there’s something gone, well…
nothing breathes, nothing seeps. flat. static.
i can trace it, when i think back. the breakdown of self, the commitment to sadness and chaos, the burning, the regrowth, and the areas we do not touch again. who was the hero that looked back as he was leaving hades and turned his lover to stone before his eyes. the parts of us that freeze like that, that just stay. they do not move.
what gives me a semblance of guilt is the hypocrisy. the care and attention i have demanded, i have yelled that i deserve and that i will not do without – you know, it’s not like i’m making it a fair fucking trade. it’s not like i am this fountain of love, and i can whine because no one’s throwing any coins into me. no, i was put away for the winter, i am dry, i am giving you nothing but a stone statue to stare at, to think it must be prettier when summer comes, when light illuminates the waterfalls.
before, i wrote in struggle. i wrote when i was somewhere i did not want to be. here though – i don’t know.
the ineloquent conclusion will say that i don’t know if this is bad, i don’t know if i’ve just finally sunk to some relatively average level of human emotion, you know, not just feeling everything all at once always. maybe this is how it’s done. maybe i’m sort of relieved. maybe i’m confused. and maybe, really, i’m unsure.