I’m writing without the slightest clue of what to say. Some call it free writing.
Random thoughts. Pointless envy. Motionless longing. Tired eyes. All of it is sinking deep into my soul, with no release. No release, no point. No point to all this madness. I’m done with him, thank God. I’m done. I long to love again, but I fear I never will. I’m ok if I never love a man. To never love a man… what a concept. My mind is programmed in the old-fashioned way. Grow up, fall in love, make babies, die happily. Note to self: don’t go changin’. My life line is people, but people are also my downfall. My downfall. Hmm. To fall down… never to get back up? Yes, the floor is where I stay. Smothered and battered and ripped to shreds by nothing but my own heart. It beats and moans and lashes out at me. My own heart. Who would have thought? I know it all, but it’s head knowledge; hardly heart knowledge. Like a distant memory; something I’ll always remember, but it gets fuzzy. He get’s fuzzy and stays that way for quite some time. These days, anyway. Pure genius, to get me running back to those great, big, beautiful arms. Silence, and later a hug. During the silence, my heart beats and moans and lashes out. It gives no rest, no goodness, no peace. I’ll die in limbo. Yes, I’ll die in limbo. To never love a man… what a concept. But I am in love with one… one who, quite honestly, I don’t know. When I think of him, my heart beats and moans and lashes out at me. Me, the only one at fault. I’m aware that sand is coarse and rough and irritating… but when it’s pushing through your toes and massaging your feet, you don’t mind so much. It gets everywhere, but that’s the point, I think. My lover made it that way. That’s why I love him: I’m romanced. Every. Single. Day. Motionless longing. Tired eyes. And a heart that beats and moans and lashes out at me. I’m smothered and battered and ripped to shreds by nothing but my own heart. Yes, I’ll die in limbo.
