Published: January 18, 2009
Here I am, back to these old circles, stringing out the old words I've worn through with my pacing. But how can I not pace? How can I not be restless, running on adrenaline and the transcendent? This isn't me clinging to my childhood. This is me building on something I have put my heart and soul into creating. This is me understanding! This is me knowing! I don't want to lose the one thing I've devoted the core of myself to - that's not fair. I don't know if I can be happy in the absence of this love, or even if I want to be. I don't know if losing it would be a gradual growing up, as they say with their lofty misunderstanding of completeness, or a true loss, a missing I could not ease with time. Some things do not ease with time. I need to talk to someone who understands, to someone who recognizes this as a viable, valuable form of love. I need to know if this fear is justified, if I am justified. There has to be someone who has faced this. Who do I turn to? Who can counsel me? Am I the only one who feels this way? How could that be possible? I know there must be someone else. How do I find them? Are they looking for me, too? Are they wasting away their weary fingers writing these words as well? I don't want someone who listens for politeness' sake. I want someone who listens out of desire, out of hunger, out of a need for words and worlds and a twin in understanding. I know there must be someone else. How could there not be? How could I be alone in this? No, I am not alone. I am not. I refuse that possibility. I refuse, and yet who will know if I write here or remain silent? Who will care if my words are of any worth? Who will find any worth in my words? It isn't enough on my own. I'm tapped out. There's no one left to tell the stories to, no one to beg for one more before sleep. No one, no one, no one. I feel like Shakespeare's Sister, lost and so pent up without an outlet, like I might blow my brains out in desperation and be left, like her, to some shallow crossroad grave. And then I think, what if I'm making all this up? What if I'm just childish and obsessive and can't understand what my own emotions mean? But then again, what if I'm not? I'm not! I can't be. Sometimes at night I lay awake and wonder about her, my fictional metaphorical other half, this girl that isn't mine but could be, should be. Did she have a world in her head that she couldn't get down on paper? Did it make her feel so restless, so empty, so anticipatory like me? Did she toss and turn at night as well, grasping at impossibilities, wanting to shout her lungs out? She could be the one. Perhaps we just have tragic timing, her and I. Perhaps she is the one and a hundred years ago she sat at such a desk, scratching out hopeless nameless longing, and now I a hundred years more in this moment send nameless hopeless longing back to her. Or am I just digging myself in deeper for thinking this? Do I have no idea what the true definition of love is? I mean, if I think that what I feel is love then it should be, right? It must be, right? I can't second-guess myself. I won't! This much at least I know, and this is what grounds me in these moments. I'll unravel bit by bit if I question what I believe is a fundamental love, a thing so deeply ingrained that even I could never put the exact right words to it. I know it could be, after all, so why is it impossible? Am I not capable of devotion? No. I am, and this restless desire is a testament to that devotion. I am a testament to that devotion! It's just that I don't know how to achieve the next level; I don't know how to jump-start myself to greater heights, or even if I can do it all on my own. This is all I know. I'm doing everything I can. What more is there? What fresh spark can alight within this dry tinder if my fingers hold no flame? I feel desperate. I feel scared. I feel alone in this. I don't know what more I can do. Am I fighting the inevitable or am I waging a good war? Am I brave for this or am I a coward? Everything is a search for tangible proof of this intangible creation. I just want one person to tell me my love is justified. I just want one person to recognize and understand and reciprocate.