Not Dark Yet

Maybe it was a bad idea. I don’t know the difference between the two poles of ideas anymore. But I spent a good 3 hours just now reviewing and reading some things. Maybe it was a waste… maybe it was a bad idea considering where I am left… but maybe it was something I needed to do right now.

And now, here I am. But I don’t know where this is at all. It’s not simply nostalgia, I know that too well to not recognize it.

As of lately, maybe two weeks, some things have shifted inside me. And it’s odd, but I think maybe I’m scared to actually speak about them here. Scared enough to even think about them. And you know… I think I may be sad as well. I don’t really know the difference of those poles either.  But I think this is being sad, from what I recall from when I knew the differences in emotional shades.

Some things just don’t want to leave you. And my life is faced with so many hopeless things. So many things that are without hope of changing or coming about. So many dreams and ideas about life that have no hope of reality. So many things that I know truth too well to even hope for. And I must continue living with these hopeless things staring at me everyday.

And it gets hard to live with those faces staring at you. Knowing they will always be there.

But I guess one just continues. That stubborn instinct of survival. Stubborn nobility of love and all it once was. Stubborness of this night to hold me firm in a pathetic attempt of comfort.

“In time memories fade, senses numb;
one forgets how it feels to have loved completely.”

I was once quite a catch in high school. I saw it in pictures from the past. I don’t think it’s narcissistic to think one’s past self a catch. But, I can’t draw the correlations to the present; instead I only find a less than desirable man in my shoes. No longer true are these things said, “Anyone would be lucky to have a guy like you.” Never would one be able to say so sincerely, “What did I do to deserve you?” or “Thank you David.” Never again can I be that.

Maybe that’s why I cried reading about Sydney Carton.

And I felt it was time to put an honest entry here, not minding the length. Like I once did. It might be the last. Honesty isn’t becoming of an undesirable man. It surely doesn’t come naturally. But tonight… urged me differently.

I’m glad I was alive long enough to meet you. There’s honesty.

“I’ve still got the scars that the sun didn’t heal
There’s not even room enough to be anywhere
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there.”