The turmoil is so painful, I want to cut it out. At least then I'd feel the warmth of the blood run down my body and know the pain is for a reason. The release would be exhausting. It would be worth it when I look down at the crimson pool around my feet and smile, knowing I finally let it out.
Some days I feel as if it will never be gone. No matter how much I will it, it resists; tormenting me. How can something so surreal, so genuine not be powerful enough? Are there reservations hidden so deep in my mind that I am unaware of their existence? Maybe there's something my heart is holding onto that my brain just wouldn't understand?
Why is slicing open my own flesh the only comparison to feeling free of this? I don't understand. I am having trouble identifying with such feelings. I need it to be easy. Something concrete that either "is" or "isn't." They say the best this and the worst thing is getting your feelings back.
Why am I fighting this? Why do I have to? Shouldn't this be over? The worst part is that I want to think I'm the only one that knows and allow myself to be naive. You're not oblivious to my turmoil. Unfortunately I know you, and you know me all too well. I run, I always run. You wait, you always wait. I come back to you. I always do.
This time I'm not turning back, and this time you're not waiting. And that's how it should be. That's how we want it to be. Yet tonight I'm sitting here in the darkness next to someone else, wondering what could have been.
written sometime in the Fall of 2006