Because There’s Nothing To Write

Today has been a mixture of feelings, which have been afraid to show themselves for quite some time. I am content to bury myself between hesitant smiles and the normalcy of everyday life. I refuse to evaluate things anymore because sometimes….sometimes it just hurts too much.

There’s always some hole in my heart that feels like it will never quite be healed. The littlest things pull at my heart as smiling friends pull at my hand, beckoning me on to everyday life. Yet inside, I feel like I’m trapped behind some wall that I’ll never be able to get past. I feel like there’s something they just don’t understand about me…something maybe no one understands about me. There’s some piece missing that will never quite be fufilled, no matter how many days I sucessfully get through, no matter how many things I comprehend and accept and persevere through. They pull at me and I clumsily go along, shredding through the days like they’re nothing but paper. But there’s no vitality in that living…

…there is no peace, no fufillment, no sense of accomplishment. I’m not accomplished…I’m broken. I clumsily beat my way through every day, getting through it because I have to.

I watched the lights of the cities burn against the sky as the car silkily passed by. A million memories appeared on the glass instead of my troubled reflection. A thousand unsaid words strung themselves together in my mind as I struggled to throw my head above the surface. All my mistakes gawked at me as good memories soothed the burn of the bad ones. Suddenly, I felt slow, clumsy, tired.

As spellbinding as love can be, it has ruptured something in me that can’t be stopped anymore. I’m a hopeless romantic…. or maybe I’m just hopeless. Something inside me burns for more….something I can only hush, never mute. The static of life grinds against my needs, which are just disguised wants, dressed prettily. 

The tears have been held so tightly that they can no longer spill over. I bind myself to rigidity, so there is no bending…. I can only snap clean in half, with more pain than necessary. My spine is strong because I can’t allow weakness, simply to avoid the fear that will seep in with it. I’m awkward, I’m clumsy, but I have some mysterious pull on people that isn’t easily ignored. I’m so open that I could be considered an enigma.

I’m a black-and-white movie, well-loved and boring. I’m all the wrong things. I’m the sharp corner or the biting wind. I’m solid, I’m free-flowing water, I’m a field full of wildflowers with the stems bent and warped. I’m soft, pliant, misunderstood. I’m not all that complicated with my tangled hair and laughing face. I’m gnarled oak trees made for climbing and summer skies melting to twilight. I’m smooth skipping stones and electric blue ribbons and those mystic eyes, flashing green and blue and violet. I’m a sleepy smile, a fleeting touch, a unspoken sentence. I’m the flame of a candle, a shred of black lace. I’m everything, anything, nothing at all. I’m perfectly formed, an unfinished creation. I’m a bubbling laugh, a quick smile, a flitting form in this perfect world. I am unshed tears near a gloomy window on a rainy day. I am something easily erased but a thought slow in coming. I am a thousand things, but not one of those amount to anything. I am simplicity, and I wonder now if that’s better than the world’s mysterious ones, the world’s enigmas, the world’s dark and tormented traffic.

The cold seeping into my body right now will be washed out by the warmth of blankets, the shine of the morning sun on my face. Nostalgia will wash away in my dreams, sleep will ease my drowsy mind. I’ll wake up soft, unknowing, simply naive. But in this moment, there is biting clarity. And every moment, apologetic, has to come to an abrupt, bittersweet end.

All my secrets, blowing away with the wind, washing away in the sink, rolling away in tears.

Escaping,
Amanda