Today, my voice speaks a little softer than it has before. I sit here wondering when my time will come that my writers block can sit and just poor out the stories that run around my head. Truth is, I hate love stories. I hate them to the very core and meaning that they are. But the love that I can only imagine in my head prosper such stories to be placed on paper. I am such a sucker when it comes to love. To know that someone loves me, makes me weak in the knees. But that is only in my head. I married a man whom gave the identity of love but did not know how to cast it upon me or did not want to. So when I yearn for such things its a loss a what that could ever be. I was a differnt kind of love a differnt type of love. I wont forget it at any moment but I will just due to the fact that I am a sucker for love. I will take love over anything. I thought that I wanted money once. Then I found out when I had a little it ruined a simple thought that some people were honest. Its really not their fault. I would rather love them then loan them money anyway. Perhaps I am strange that I dream of such a thing. All the time for so long that sometimes I think I could miss it, just because I think it comes in only few forms.
The last time I saw my husband he even knew that we were over. The last touch a half a hug, and tears he did not understand that would flood my sunglass. When he left I was left totally alone for the first time in all of this. Not that I was not alone already but that the hope he would understand how to fix things, to make them right with me. Knowing that he wouldnt come back again and that our friendship would be less than talking terms made me lieterally boo hoo in my living room. I had never cried like that before in my life. When I thought I was done I walked only a few feet more to my bed just to barely sit on the edge to cry some more. Even now remembering that emotion, makes me cry like I really dont know how to explain. I can see him being so stong in this and I know that I have broken him into a thousand pieces and he has kept himself together better than I can. Even he has said "I just dont know how to love you." I really didnt think that I had made loving me that complicated. But I guess that I did. I never will be ever to tell him that my heart broke everytime he walked away like it was nothing. I always hoped he would come back understanding that what happened was more than just him but that he loved me enough to understand that somethings I can not just leave out of my life. I dont love just him. I have a family and friends that I love just as much. Maybe I did not love him enough to walk away from that. But I have never seen why I should.
So I am back to stage one again. I look at myself in the mirror and I wonder what it is that I need to fix to make me feel better about myself again? I know there are so many things that would just work better if I worked better with it. I still have writers block, and I still dont sleep at night. Nothing has changed there. Its not helping me seek for love. It is a love that I have tossed away like it is trash. I cant help but wonder who and what I stopped writing for. It was my frist love as it is. I am in over my head with a lot of words just barely slipping through the tips of my fingers. How many more days until I find this identity that I have lost? I will become better, if I could only reach my first love again. Just to write the love stories that I have stomping around in my brain. That I hate so much.
The words are all over my head. Even the most simple words meaning is just dancing along flirting with my great big brick wall, that blocks it from dating my finger tips and becoming something more than just a thought. So everyday I come home. I meditate, I dream and I wait in front of a black page on my computer and every night around 2 or 3 I close the day with an empty page. It really is sad that I keep my words so locked up like I do. I sometimes wonder if they chose to stay there and fuck with me until I fall alsleep and peek out in my dreams. Damn little fuckers.
Perhaps, I do not live in reality but in a world that I have simply made up for myself. Its a thought that has not lept great bounds with me. I know I live in another world. (I am the weird one) I just wait for a better word to appear and try to put it on the blank page. So far I dont know what that word is? The word are all above me. I am reaching, reeeeeaaccchhhinnnggg.....ugh, love is the only word that comes to me. Its the only thing in my life that I need more than my own thoughts, which are in fact full of thoughts about love. What I would give to meet someone that was reaching for the same word.
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