|
so that's what it sounds like when doves cry every once in a while one is presented with the opportunity to realize things about themselves. the first reaction is to reject that opportunity, because we do not want to see these things, we do not want to know the truth. my truth is here, in my face, smeared like bad makeup, like a rotting slice of citrus, all soft and smelly. i am not desirable to those who i want to be the most desirable. does that make me inhuman? a lie i tell myself? am i really horrible, or do i allow the actions of others (who have no sympathy, no plans for sympathy) to create the new me: insecure, weepy, sad sad sad. when you spend a long time with someone, doing things, building what you think is a real something, a vable, ephemeral entity that can stand alone without the crutch of painful realism, and then it is gone, the crutch really was needed, the lies were necessary. take all that away and there is nothing. just emptiness and fear, lonliness and a deep sense of foreboding. i can't write it well. i can't properly explain this. it is a feeling and a building up inside like jenga backwards, falling, then rising, then falling again because everyone keeps pulling away my pieces. i flew on planes today, soared above the terra firma to an old familiar place for a week. then more flying, looking, seeing, assessing the financial situation, then driving driving driving. i am leaving my old life, my old self behind. i am getting the hell out of dodge. |
