Truth Is a Great Flirt
Today, my loneliness is the weight of a cat sitting on my chest. Not the warmth, not the sensation of living skin with promise of meat and bone beneath. Just the weight.
I suppose that this is progress. Sometimes my loneliness is a mack truck.
This is me coming back. Sticking my toes into the pool. I haven't been able to gather the courage to just jump in. The thought of submersion too much. Too sensory overload. Like waking up to a cochlear implant.
Truth waits for me here. Perhaps that is what I am truly avoiding. It's one thing to tell half-truths to well-meaning friends under cover of drinks and a bar. But this is my journal. Even though others can see this, half-truths here are only lies to myself. I have too much pride to do that. Or, if that's not it, something is stopping me.
Also. Happiness is a warm gun (bang, bang; shoot, shoot).
I suppose that this is progress. Sometimes my loneliness is a mack truck.
This is me coming back. Sticking my toes into the pool. I haven't been able to gather the courage to just jump in. The thought of submersion too much. Too sensory overload. Like waking up to a cochlear implant.
Truth waits for me here. Perhaps that is what I am truly avoiding. It's one thing to tell half-truths to well-meaning friends under cover of drinks and a bar. But this is my journal. Even though others can see this, half-truths here are only lies to myself. I have too much pride to do that. Or, if that's not it, something is stopping me.
Also. Happiness is a warm gun (bang, bang; shoot, shoot).