And stumbling
This is the first thing I've written in a long time that I've been completely satisfied with.
There used to dreams of living in a happy family, one without the drug-ridden mind of my father and over-protective tendencies and paranoia of my mother. One where money wasn't an issue in every conversation and making dinner didn't mean (far too often) finding whatever happened to be in the cupboards. There used to laughter and the thought of something better, something not quite so harshly laced with hurtful words and nights spent crying alone.
The faith I had was squandered on a family and circumstances that were spinning so wildly out of control that I gave up on ever trying to make sense of them. I gave up on looking for what was beautiul, kind, and sweet. I honed in on the bitterness that plagued my heart, convinced in so many moments that this was all life could be. So many had promised me the world (and that sounded so magnificent), only to turn their backs on me the moment I showed any signs of needing something they weren't used to giving. I had been left to fight through a darkness too consuming to stand in. I had been left with countless pages crammed with useless poetry, scribbled in the hours when I couldn't sleep.
Then you came along so unexpectedly: you in all your beauty and with a fresh sense of humor. There was shocked silence for a while, a shyness I hadn't known in so long, and yet a need to speak, a need to know you, to have you know me. You brought me a faith that wouldn't be wasted. There was something in your eyes: a look that I wanted to trust and knew wouldn't falter. And while I couldn't completely and immediately forget the pain, you made me realize that one day (with you) I would. (And I will.) You made it alright to smile again. You made me want to smile again, to live with a gradually growing hope that life could be more than tangled visions and impartiality. You made life into what life should forever be: love and laughter and a lack of fear.
And now, after five years of existing in a hopeless place, it seems we'll finally be escaping. That's what she says, but somewhere deep inside, I know it's only the beginning of something even more trying for me. It's not an escape to me, not yet. It won't be a release from any of this until I can know the feeling of your kiss every night and wake up to your body in the early morning. It won't be a true change until the thought of her isn't filling every room in my house. There's nothing so different about Pennsylvania, figuratively. Take away the snowfalls, golden trees, and the absence of my father, and the situation is still the same. You're still too far away. She's still wondering about what's ahead for me.
Today's example: there's a noisy confrontation going on in front of my eyes, filling my ears with too many words and my mind with too many thoughts. Just when I think, naively and quite foolishly, that it will be fine, my trust comes back around to laugh at me one more time. The misery of this existance escalates, and I'm sick of all of these questions. She asks about you, your beliefs, my friends, our plans. She tells me we should counsel with someone before we get married, and I think to myself that these past two years have proven that we can handle almost anything. I don't need yet another person to question our stability. Life has been more bearable with you, every thought stronger than its precedent. You are, quite simply, my reason. My reason for any thought, action, or decision. My reason for smiling. My reason for crying or building or creating. My reason for living.... and still the only thing in my life that defies reason.
I think that, for now, I've reached a point where it's all too much, where sound needs to be replaced with silence, comfort, and calm, and where all of these things means your company. I need arms enclosed in a perfect circle around me, securing all of my loose thoughts: the ones that hang haphazardly from my heart.
I'll be okay in a little while; I promise. It's just been a long day.
There used to dreams of living in a happy family, one without the drug-ridden mind of my father and over-protective tendencies and paranoia of my mother. One where money wasn't an issue in every conversation and making dinner didn't mean (far too often) finding whatever happened to be in the cupboards. There used to laughter and the thought of something better, something not quite so harshly laced with hurtful words and nights spent crying alone.
The faith I had was squandered on a family and circumstances that were spinning so wildly out of control that I gave up on ever trying to make sense of them. I gave up on looking for what was beautiul, kind, and sweet. I honed in on the bitterness that plagued my heart, convinced in so many moments that this was all life could be. So many had promised me the world (and that sounded so magnificent), only to turn their backs on me the moment I showed any signs of needing something they weren't used to giving. I had been left to fight through a darkness too consuming to stand in. I had been left with countless pages crammed with useless poetry, scribbled in the hours when I couldn't sleep.
Then you came along so unexpectedly: you in all your beauty and with a fresh sense of humor. There was shocked silence for a while, a shyness I hadn't known in so long, and yet a need to speak, a need to know you, to have you know me. You brought me a faith that wouldn't be wasted. There was something in your eyes: a look that I wanted to trust and knew wouldn't falter. And while I couldn't completely and immediately forget the pain, you made me realize that one day (with you) I would. (And I will.) You made it alright to smile again. You made me want to smile again, to live with a gradually growing hope that life could be more than tangled visions and impartiality. You made life into what life should forever be: love and laughter and a lack of fear.
And now, after five years of existing in a hopeless place, it seems we'll finally be escaping. That's what she says, but somewhere deep inside, I know it's only the beginning of something even more trying for me. It's not an escape to me, not yet. It won't be a release from any of this until I can know the feeling of your kiss every night and wake up to your body in the early morning. It won't be a true change until the thought of her isn't filling every room in my house. There's nothing so different about Pennsylvania, figuratively. Take away the snowfalls, golden trees, and the absence of my father, and the situation is still the same. You're still too far away. She's still wondering about what's ahead for me.
Today's example: there's a noisy confrontation going on in front of my eyes, filling my ears with too many words and my mind with too many thoughts. Just when I think, naively and quite foolishly, that it will be fine, my trust comes back around to laugh at me one more time. The misery of this existance escalates, and I'm sick of all of these questions. She asks about you, your beliefs, my friends, our plans. She tells me we should counsel with someone before we get married, and I think to myself that these past two years have proven that we can handle almost anything. I don't need yet another person to question our stability. Life has been more bearable with you, every thought stronger than its precedent. You are, quite simply, my reason. My reason for any thought, action, or decision. My reason for smiling. My reason for crying or building or creating. My reason for living.... and still the only thing in my life that defies reason.
I think that, for now, I've reached a point where it's all too much, where sound needs to be replaced with silence, comfort, and calm, and where all of these things means your company. I need arms enclosed in a perfect circle around me, securing all of my loose thoughts: the ones that hang haphazardly from my heart.
I'll be okay in a little while; I promise. It's just been a long day.