(no subject)
I don't know when I became a closed book.
Sometimes you change so gradually that you don't even notice. I used to be overcome by feeling; I was subjected to the rolling of an uncontrollable sea that tossed me about constantly and sometimes mercilessly. Now I feel removed from myself, not only in the aftermath of what happened, but far before- it's like I can feel the pull in my body but I somehow remain aloof- detached from it all- floating unperturbed on the crest of a breaking wave.
I know I'm not hungry and I can't sleep, and sometimes, when I'm alone, my eyes leak torrents and my stomach ties itself into knots. I wish for everything to be as it was, even though I suspected I may be unhappy. But at least I wasn't alone. Solitude is very dear to me, but I could do without loneliness.
It's difficult, getting to know people. I've known people for years and I still can't manage to tell them who I am without feeling contrived. But I could tell him. I truly could. I rarely give away my heart, but I love hard.
I yearn an for ache that both hurts and empowers, consumes and constructs. I need a man who yearns the way I do. I trust, and I need a man who deserves it. A man who defies stereotypes and can just be. I wonder about this man all the time, imagining him, missing him.
Can someone miss the warmth of sunlight when they've never left a dark room? I think so. I think that misery must be the absence of something wonderful, and though you can't claim it, you know it must exist.
And that is a comfort.
Sometimes you change so gradually that you don't even notice. I used to be overcome by feeling; I was subjected to the rolling of an uncontrollable sea that tossed me about constantly and sometimes mercilessly. Now I feel removed from myself, not only in the aftermath of what happened, but far before- it's like I can feel the pull in my body but I somehow remain aloof- detached from it all- floating unperturbed on the crest of a breaking wave.
I know I'm not hungry and I can't sleep, and sometimes, when I'm alone, my eyes leak torrents and my stomach ties itself into knots. I wish for everything to be as it was, even though I suspected I may be unhappy. But at least I wasn't alone. Solitude is very dear to me, but I could do without loneliness.
It's difficult, getting to know people. I've known people for years and I still can't manage to tell them who I am without feeling contrived. But I could tell him. I truly could. I rarely give away my heart, but I love hard.
I yearn an for ache that both hurts and empowers, consumes and constructs. I need a man who yearns the way I do. I trust, and I need a man who deserves it. A man who defies stereotypes and can just be. I wonder about this man all the time, imagining him, missing him.
Can someone miss the warmth of sunlight when they've never left a dark room? I think so. I think that misery must be the absence of something wonderful, and though you can't claim it, you know it must exist.
And that is a comfort.