Reading last nights post, thought I sounded dark and suicidal. When in reality, I am not one bit dire or lethal. I am sad, but I’m sane enough to still have an appreciation for life. Guess, there are just certain things that I’m going through somehow; that impedes my usual zesty and engage self.
And I do try.
I do my best to find hope and substance in nature, in literature, in family and friends, in little things. However, short lived – I cherish the minutes in a day when I find myself smiling. For it is in those precious moments, that I find certitude. That this would soon come to past.
“Dawn and dusk are mutual friends of the sun; one opens the door for him to a brand new day and the other one has to shut it to embrace the darkness of night.”
― Munia Khan
I am suffering. It is as simple as that.
Pain got me here. Down on my knees, on the ground. Typing my sorrows into words.
I am writing, for it’s the only way I know how to numb the feeling of such emptiness. The room’s filled with people, of things, of loudness. Yet I am consumed in nothing, but nothingness.
I’ve cried, meditate and prayed. But the depth of this pain is deeper that I could imagine, that I can fully grasp or reach.
I am way passed recognition, over my head figuring out the cause. It’s useless, and I am tired.
Sadly, my return to writing came at the expense of my loneliness.
And for that, I apologize.
“Tonight I can write the saddest lines
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”
― Pablo Neruda,