Ridiculous Creatures

There are too many words, and no one to say them to. There are people who will listen, but are they the ones to hear?  Just because we want to listen doesn’t give us a right or a privilege.  Just like because we love someone doesn’t give us the right to expect their love in return.  Just like being someone’s friend doesn’t give us the right to hope that they will acknowledge the acts we do. 

How can I say I have no secrets when so much is left unsaid?  I wait for people to ask and then people ask and I don’t really want to tell them, not you…I tell you everything.  In honesty, I don’t really know why.  I can come up with reasons that are all well and good, but the dark side of me tells me that all those reasons don’t make any real sense and he’s right. 

I don’t understand why it takes so much effort for me to press the submit button every time I write here and why it always has.  Is it because I’m afraid of backlash that would make me feel bad about who I am?  Is it because I’m afraid there will be no reaction at all?  Or good reaction from people I don’t care about?  Or is it because I really just don’t want people to know?

Oh how illness can make even a California day feel grey.  I love grey days.  Who knows why I’m attracted to melancholia as much as joy.  Ohhh dwell.