What I yearn for and what I choose to allow myself to become enamored with are so utterly opposite that it reeks of self defiance. Choosing to allow myself to be drawn to what is wrong for me, what causes me pain and hurt has been my utmost downfall. Laying back beneath the canopy tonight, tripnotic melodic voices softly strolling from the speaker, I closed my eyes to recall words. Hearing what I hope to hear, instead of what is truly being said, and I turn my head from my self inflicted confusion. I have seen the mirage of a flower that is truly just a weed that stifles and drains life from me. How simple I am to allow it. How utterly desperate and disgusted I am with this acceptance of someone that can never bring upliftment to my spirit. Only harsh words that spew from a vessel that is broken within its own self, a vessel that speaks of my anger, but yet is consumed within its own wrath. Realizing that I have never denied my own rage, my own pain, my own bitterness yet twisted to believe that I do not acknowledge it. It truly IS as if I have almost seen the sky sometimes, as if you almost said a word, and in this moment I know that I must... turn my head.
2003-04-14 - 6:34 p.m.
Being weary is exhausting within its self, the struggle, the absence of drive, yet I hear that voice that tells me to get up. Time ticks by slowly, the hours that add up the journey as I trudge along, back aching from the weight of what I must carry alone. Still, I hear my mother's voice as she tells me that life will not give me more than I can handle. I wonder if this is truely reality, that all that I experience is merely a test of what I am capable of tolerating. Sometimes I want to crawl into my cave and hibernate not having to deal or feel this ever spinning wheel. This is not even a possibility, but simply a wish. Yet still I grasp tightly to this hopeful future, to the curiosity of what is to come, eyes focused on that pin of light that draws me to continue forward, not looking back in regret, but ever knowing that I can replace what has been lost.
2003-04-17 - 6:22 p.m.
My heart weeps at the thought of your departure, yet you have not even arrived. I cannot curl myself into this ball of sadness that is your absense. I view my own dependancy with disdain that I can be so consumed with just a touch of companionship that does not exist. Into this burning fire of desire I have fallen even after hearing that all the lines that connect to me have faded. These sunrays that invade the cracks in the coverings of my windows scorch the darkness that I wish for, that I may not see myself in this pitious state of being. Now I await that day when departure is inevitable and wonder if I will own the strength to push away the tears that come with the overwhelming emptiness. These insights of self that have hurt beyond any capacity that is humanly possible to bear are all that I have left to grasp onto. Knowing that maybe they will carry me into what I am now exploring in the newness of another that I know will not compare to what I have touched is what I now hold to so tightly that my fists become weary. I cannot wait in the unknown. I will not give this permission to be on the sidelines of a war in which I can neither participate nor win. So after tonight, saying my final farwells, with no closure, brings only pain that already exists but now only intensifies.
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