Keeping it all in

Not letting the words hit the page for fear of losing them; won't be able to use them later, they will be trite and contrived and lack the meaning I need them to carry.

Instead, I imagine conversations that should be, the things I need to say only ever revolving through my head, never coming out and becoming concrete.

But I have this pathetic hope that I'm getting closer, that your responses mean not all is lost. Maybe it is, and I have yet to catch on; maybe you really meant what you said this time. Maybe you were always capable of doing so, while I have lost that capability.

Keeping this to myself, despite the fact that it all comes out in public anyway.

Learning

I'm learning, I really am.

I had learned so much and believe there was little left to be gained, and yet somehow this past week has shown me so much.

I know what to do. I know how and why and what to say. And yet I can't bring myself to do it.
"That's your problem--you're always scared of everything."
It rings in my ears every day.

But I'm not sure its fear this time, not really. Realism. Giving myself the time to be sure, to let all parties heal, to make sure the past stays in the past, never again to invade the present or future.

I will do it. But I have the sensibility to realize that another is involved, that things will not go as planned no matter how hard I try, that something will inevitably go wrong in the proceedings, that I will come out of it battered and likely losing.

And I refuse to let that stop me from trying.

Because I will be selfish in that sense, and do it for myself, because there is no point in not trying.

Lyrics

I will write my own song.

Because none of them do any justice to my situation, none of them even begin to explain it.

Pessimists revenge?

I torture myself with this optimism, imagining a future that will never be. It hurts too much to know the tides have changed, that I now stand where once you stood.

There have been changes, small ones and for the better, but not enough to make a difference. Not enough to keep dry.

And you erased it all, the little pieces I had left; now I have only vague recollections to hold on to. I always thought your words were concrete. How foolish of me to have believed technology might save me. That was always your realm.

And this wasted day is proof of it all, that I am still here waiting, waiting for something that will never be, possibly waiting for something I'm not yet sure of. Only waiting, but what good has waiting ever done?

Would it really matter? Would this be any different from before? I've waited on so many things, endured it all; though I think perhaps this one tops them all.

Treacherous optimism, leave me be. Let me be like the rest and see how terrible it was, how terrible it might have been. At least then I might not care, might not remember, might not want and ache every day that I wait in vain.

But taking action would only prove futile.

So I'm lost in this arms race against myself, free falling into uncharted territory, and no one is any the wiser.

At least not...

I remember...

Hey there,
I know it's hard to feel like I don't care at all.
Where you are and how you feel.
With these lights off as these wheels
keep rolling on and on. (and on and on and on...)
Slow things down or speed them up.
Not enough or way too much. (and on and on and on...)
How are you when I'm gone?

And I can't make it on my own.
(And I can't make it on my own.)
Because my heart is in Ohio.
So cut my wrists and black my eyes.
(Cut my wrists and black my eyes)
So I can fall asleep tonight, or die.
Because you kill me.
You know you do, you kill me well.
You like it too, and I can tell.
You never stop until my final breath is gone.

Spare me just three last words.
"I love you" is all she heard.
I'll wait for you, but I can't wait forever.

--Hawthorne Heights