(no subject)
My tears are full of you, I am crying you out. If I close my eyes while they run down my face, a tear feels like your fingertip brushing my cheek. Tears in the beginning, and then tears in the end. Tears during birth, and tears during death.
I’ll ask again, what is the significance of tears?
I marvel that I am still able to write in such circumstances and I hope that one day I can give the real reason for this. I hope that one day I will say,
“I am a writer. I write books. That is what I do.”
And then they’ll say, “Wow, I mean… have you ever had anything published?”
And I’ll smile then and remember when my only true answer was, “No… not at all.”
Then I’ll nod. Yes, I will most certainly nod then; but I will be modest about it. I would never boast or pretend to be any better than anyone else because my words happen to flow in a way that people understand and enjoy.
But I would know this deeply, and maybe… maybe it would hold me together, even if I didn’t have her, have someone.
Still, as I always say, probably not.
In reality, I am writing things to keep my mind off of what she is doing and what she is thinking and what place I am at in her head. I am writing things to keep my mind off of sharp objects in the kitchen and how much better it would probably feel. I am writing things to forget that many years ago, this forbidden option was my only savior. I am writing things to keep my word that I will stay “sober” for the rest of my life, because yes; that blood release made me so incredibly intoxicated.
I’ll ask again, what is the significance of tears?
I marvel that I am still able to write in such circumstances and I hope that one day I can give the real reason for this. I hope that one day I will say,
“I am a writer. I write books. That is what I do.”
And then they’ll say, “Wow, I mean… have you ever had anything published?”
And I’ll smile then and remember when my only true answer was, “No… not at all.”
Then I’ll nod. Yes, I will most certainly nod then; but I will be modest about it. I would never boast or pretend to be any better than anyone else because my words happen to flow in a way that people understand and enjoy.
But I would know this deeply, and maybe… maybe it would hold me together, even if I didn’t have her, have someone.
Still, as I always say, probably not.
In reality, I am writing things to keep my mind off of what she is doing and what she is thinking and what place I am at in her head. I am writing things to keep my mind off of sharp objects in the kitchen and how much better it would probably feel. I am writing things to forget that many years ago, this forbidden option was my only savior. I am writing things to keep my word that I will stay “sober” for the rest of my life, because yes; that blood release made me so incredibly intoxicated.