My Love
When a tree falls in the forest, who is the primary audience for such theatrics? Do the critters call out to one another, excitement veiled underneath the opportunity for a new home, a new life? Will the clouds and their tears notice one spot where it hits their mother earth the hardest, no safety net catch from their green giant child? Can the love grown for hundreds of years and stuck standstill among millions of memorial roots fill the surrounding soil with enough devotion for next seasons beauty? There is a hole in my chest and I am not sure why it keeps getting larger, with no flowers around it to at least embroider some sort of direction; what goes up must come down, but I cannot seem to find something, anything, to help me up onto my knees.
It is in my agenda to see a psychic soon so that they may gift me a riddle to invoke some sort of soul search into ‘what now?’ Yes of course I still priorities, but I feel more robotic than I do human. It could be that I am afraid my failure has already become a wreckage for those to learn from before they reach their ‘it is too late’ realization. I get what it means to be selfish now, and it consists of being alone but not lonely, weekly to-do lists with more creative additions added every day, and moving my thoughts back and forth from the past to the future.
My brain has finally clawed its way out of the depths of my mistakes and calculated it’s pets (me) own worthwhileness in throwing the mass which once felt too big for my own body, into an abyss. My state is one of resting, where nothing can penetrate the invisible ‘go away’ aura. I feel so strange and out of place, but not in a way that I can be proud if I got there by myself. At least my gym anxiety has disappeared; I will stand awkwardly in front of the machines directions and attempt to get fit and nobody can stop me!
I find that silence has been my remedy at the end of each day, as it finds itself the most inviting in my room, with my current book on the nightstand and my phone far out of sight. What I look forward to most is the emptiness I feel after I complete my day of future-oriented work that I know will pay off one day in the most beautiful way, but I just want to go straight to sleep without thinking of you. What an odd feeling it is to know what you want will always be out of reach, never to be sensed again. My heart is like a zoo; an animal behind bars, gnawing behind blinded, tearful eyes for a way back home, vacant of any fear that they will be wanted, hunted.
There is a point before you decide to try and move on which is kept as a reminder of strength. I am stuck within the purgatory of a lifetime that should have been. I am trying to be strong but it feels so wrong, like putting that huge blood-pumping organ into the abyss just made it all that much larger, darker, consuming. Of course its no one elses job but mine to get where I need to be going, but this whiplash has my eyes straining forward while my mind is simultaneously pulling my neck in each direction; I do not feel like I am getting better, just more hurt.
