so much to say. so much to write. so much more to not say.
life is a confounded thing.
my head is full of nouns and verbs and adjectives used in an attempt to make sense of the pictures or feelings or intangibles floating around. how do you do justice to sitting on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, watching life go on around you while feeling nothing but dead? how can one possibly express the empty ache for a misplaced closeness or the utter satisfaction of knowing a smile? can language ever truly accomplish the arduous task of longing for the things that can never be again?
while i resoundingly think not, i do try.
oh how my contradictions go.
earlier this week i believed myself to be losing my mind. i've lost my heart. isnt it the next logical thing to go?
i do so love a good zombie flick. but not when im the main character. i go through my days as a poser, checking off my to-do list. laundry - check. dishes - check. smile - check. breathe- check. my tick marks act as a calendar of sorts for how long ive been here but moreso what ive accomplished. it feels like so much more when even the little things are difficult.
my world is spinning and im getting sick.
nostalgia haunts my days, while living (or the lack thereof) haunts my nights and im caught in this weird paradigm of what could be.
always so full of promise and gusto. but to what?
have i made you proud? you who always knew better, always knew more, always knew... knew what? your condemnations and expectations have only served as markers for where i havent been.
i want to remember that this is what i want. this is what ive chosen. may i be happy please?
perhaps it is not meant for me. perhaps longing is truly to be my only constant bedfellow. and the others are merely affairs.
i was meant for more and greatness. or at least something a little less anorexic then this last month has been.
viva l'indépendance!
continuez votre règne, oh mon coeur indompté
