you know what is the hardest thing? crawling on the edge of that cliff that is trust and feeling the safety of the ground crumble as you get closer and closer to the edge. wanting to feel worth and wanting to feel unconditionally loved, and at the same time cringing in fear at the very thought of the surrender that comes along with feeling it. or getting a taste of that possibility as it darts it's tongue at you through an iron gate with a lock so heavy that even the fire of the sun cannot melt it's closing. to see it standing behind the wall, unattainable, beyond my grasp, and all i can do is weep at the absense of it.
Have you ever viewed an object through a cracked looking glass, or a cloudy microscope where images are faded and have no definite meaning? Possibly this viewing of me, this perception of lack of emotion for my core is what keeps him held back. Yet I dance before the view swirling gently in slow circles wanting and needing the attention of time. It does not come, and this saddens me. I hold the forceps in my hand with slight grip, knowing that I cannot pull this infantile feeding to my own thirst. How can I want so immensely, through distance and space to feel a being that I cannot grasp? Why do I cry, embedded in this horrific loniliness, daydreaming of these arms that have no form because I have never seen them, felt them? This self, weakened by want, that mourns the loss of something that cannot be defined, something that I have never owned, haunts my every thought. Waiting, watching, knowing the terrible ending, but needing even the filler that comes in between makes me see that even a crumb of this morsel of lifeforce can pull me. Hunger pangs my stomach, yet I cannot eat. Weariness claws my eyes, yet I cannot sleep. Tears creep the tips of my eyelids, yet I cannot weep. I am trapped in nothingness, in emptiness, but yet I revel in the knowing that I feel, however despondant it may be.
Standing before this stream of honey, golden and sweet scents wafting to my nostrils, my tongue tingles with an urge to taste. Slowly I bend, pulled by the essence of it's majestic splendor, wanting to move my lips over it's riveting softeness. Suddenly, burning, all over my face, a million pinpricks, stinging my eyelids and cheeks, and I scream out in pain. No warning of the poison behind the honey, the bees that would pierce and inject their venom into my skin. No warning that what appears to be the sweetest of anything that I could taste is in reality only a facade of the violent insect that dwells behind it.