I Don’t Suppose You Want to…

I don’t want to sleep, and I don’t want to dream. And I am sad, sad, sad. I don’t want to think about all these things that I don’t want to think about. All of them there, sitting on a shelf, glowing and pulsing with life, waiting for me to get.around.to.it.
Get around to it already.
I hate these moments. These days. These lifetimes of melancholy sorrow. These moments of pain after pain after pain that really never goes away.
And amongst all of it, I hate the newness of it all as well. I hate the feeling that I missed my life, somehow. I was too busy being sad. Too busy feeling sorry for myself. Too busy sitting in a dark room numbing out on pop, both culture and soda.
I hide from her. All the time. I am doing my best to stay afloat. She says she really doesn’t have me, and she’s right. No one has me. I don’t even have myself. I cannot be contained. Why would you want to? Why would you want to hold in all this sadness all the time?

I know I don’t. 

Los Angeles, I’m Yours…

 

The journey is the reward

Lao-Tzu