as we howl

Thursday, April 22, 2010

as we howl

I’m letting it out once and for all. I’m not going to cry about any more. I’m tired but not so tired. I need to move on and not focus on you and what you are doing and not doing. Our time has passed and therefore I should move on. It’s harder said than done but I need to force myself to do so. I’m stuck. I’m stuck in limbo waiting for a return to what I thought was safe and secure. You’ve moved on. You’re looking fine. It seems you’re living your life as best as you can. You certainly aren’t skipping a beat. You’re dancing and laughing. You’re showing the world who you are and what you have. I need to do the same for myself. Let’s face it. I live in my own worst nightmare, a nightmare of my own creation. I sit and cry and stare. I stare at the fun things you’re are doing and imagine myself beside you. I weep for loss time. I weep for our past. You’ve moved on. I have not. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but for some reason I can’t. It’s the masochism in me. Why can’t I just be macho and move on? I need it. You’ve obviously done it without as much as a wink. Guess you weren’t that into me after all. I weep. I weep. I weep for once was. I weep for what could’ve been. I continue on my life journey looking back at you. Waiting to reopen that door, a door you shut on my face. Thanks for that. Thanks for not giving us a shot. I look at the skies and imagine my life up there. Unfortunately, I’ve always felt that my life was to be a solitary confinement. I was to be confined by lots of riches but no one to share it with. It’s my destiny. A destiny I’ve chosen for myself. A destiny to protect me from the hurt and sorrow I’ve felt. Reliving the past is not fun at all. Looking at your Facebook pictures just rips me up inside… just a little. A little rip each day is what I give myself from looking at those pictures. As I mentioned before, I’m a little masochistic over you. The great Britney Spears said it best “I’m a slave for you.” I wish I was no longer enslaved with you. I want to be happy and free. Is that so darn hard? Thanks. You’re probably not reading this but I write anyway. I write to let it out. I’ve always had trouble identifying my feelings…emotions…whatever you call them. I’ve never been privy to what they are and what they try to tell me. I lie. I’ve always ignored them. I stuff them in a box deep down inside. I don’t want to see or feel them. They disgust me for being so weak, emotional, and human. I’ve always been disgusted by human emotions and pain. The fortified brick wall that surrounds me is cool. I like sitting up against it. In the summer time it keeps me cool. The sun doesn’t penetrate me. In the winter time, it keeps the frigid air and snow out. Did I mention that I like the winter? It’s one of my best seasons because it is darker for a long time. The light bothers me. It blinds me. You liked the summer time. I like the winter time. I get to play in the winter. I get to walk the streets while everyone is scared and in a hole at home. They hibernate and party. I let out a huge howl. I rejoice.