Remember when I could just come here and bleed?
When did this place stop being my safe sanctuary? When did I stop returning?
Was it when I tired of writing about him?
Was it when she told me that it worried her when she read about my difficulties?
Was it when they didn't show any appreciation or validation?
I don't know when it was but these words, they stopped flowing here. I stopped feeling like I could put them out there for the whole world (and at the same time paradoxically, no one) to see.
I still write -- perhaps this year i have written much more than ever before. I write because that's all I know. I don't know how else to let it all out. How to process without expressing. How to make sense of it all. I don't know if there is any meaning at all. But these words, the sound of my keys clicking and clanking away is the one way I create any. I find it within me this need to put it all out. Put it to paper. Record it.
Perhaps this is the only way i will be remembered
The only way i will be known and distinguished from the unknown. The only way I'll get through this journey is with these words. Nothing in the heavens can explain why we are all just slowly burning away into nothingness. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In the end it's all about the love we send out, isn't it?
No. It's also about the pain and the suffering. The pain we shoulder together. The suffering that we persevere through. This life can't be lived with only the love. To love is to know pain. And as I type it, a sense of terror seems to take over, i don't think i have it in me to love anymore. i just can't do any more pain.
none.
