the realizations of a reader, writer, and dreamer.
If my desire for you could feed the world mouths would be fed, fish would swim rather than become extinct and trees would continue to grow…if my desire for you actually mattered, but in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t. The hungry will die, the fish will be hunted, the trees will be cut down, and I will simply implode with my desire for you.
I just let men use me.
There. I said it.
I lie alone in bed on my back under the weight of phantoms that are crushing me.
If you stay out in the rain you will get sick, yet I let myself get drenched. Consequences I can’t seem to adhere even when the repercussions are tickling my throat. When the suffering takes me I promise myself I’ve learned, then it rains again and I’m caught.
Almost exactly two years ago I wrote this: “I wish I had been more careful with the people I let into my life, because those people have never left me. Even after months, years. I’ll always have little reminders of them. Like an old scar or a limb that’s been removed but I can still feel. Some people just continue to haunt us for the rest of our lives. I wish I could choose my ghosts.”
Evidently my life doesn’t change. Cycles are just repeated. This must be my version of “Spring cleaning.”
The woman’s made me feel so wretched and worthless at times she made me want to flee far away. But God knows tonight, hearing her say, “They’ll be other opportunities,” that was all I needed to hear to get me through to another day.
Opportunity knocks, and I promptly run away.
You know those great conversations that feel like a monsoon after a long drought? When someone’s words actually drip with meaning and excitement and it soaks you to your core and even though you know you will never see them again and it was just a brief exchange of dialogue you feel reassured communication is not dead and even these encounters can rejuvenate you—like the one-night-stand of conversations.
I imagined it with my heart and now I can’t unsee it despite the voice in my head.
