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Requiems And Reveries
Between Dreams
User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. click to show.....I guess you could say for the last few months I haven't had the strength to write, why? Because writing releases all the things I have been holding inside me. Afraid to admit, afraid of the truth of the matter. I am an escapist, and the truth of my reality scares me more than I could explain. I lost something I had been building for two and a half years, in April, and I am still trying to make sense of why and what, and how. I am fighting against these walls my heart is trying to build. Never have I been so honest with myself. Never have I admitted so openly that I am scared. I am afraid of my heart. Of making the wrong choices. I don't want to close the door too early and I don't want to leave it open to long. I don't want to be so guarded and jaded that I become the person who destroyed me. I don't want this to change me, to take everything beautiful from me. I don't know why I am so hesitant to embrace the warmness of loyalty, when I could so easily caress the coldness of my former distant lover. Someone used to tell me we can only accept the love we think we deserve...perhaps I don't know how to love someone who truly will care for me. I only know how it is to yearn, to doubt, to want. That I forgot what it was to be fulfilled. I have chased happiness all my life, but now that the possibility stares me in the eyes, and asks for me to come inside. I can not allow myself to cross the threshold. My feet are glued to the sidewalk, because I have learned so well the bitter lesson, that all things are far too good to be true. So I sit and ponder. I light my strawberry cigarette and just think of all the things that could that have gone wrong, that are going wrong, and that could go wrong and I am riddled with doubt of myself, and the world around me. I feel as if I am forever changing, and the world around me refuses to move. I can no longer relate to the things people are saying, or what is important to those in my supposed youth. I guess I have lived to many lifetimes, in my short life of 22 years. I don't know who I am supposed to be, but I knew that long ago I used to sit in a dark corner of a park, and tell a hopeful brown eyed boy, exactly who I was. I used to Be able to explain my soul to a smiling blue/green eyed pianist without saying a word. Just by playing a song. I wonder where that confidence has gone, where I lost the ability to stand my ground and plan so hopefully for the future. Perhaps my anxiety, stole away my tomorrow, in frantic heartbeats and breaths, that were meant for another day. I am cursed with my mother's mind, and my father's inability to ask for help. I can't untangle what I feel and what matters most. I just feel my soul slamming against my rib cage trying to get a word in edgewise, as my mind just continues to tie it with binding knots that some might consider solid logic. But my soul continues to fight, like a defiant submissive, not willing to take it's punishment. I don't know if any of this makes any sense or it is me just rambling to try and stop myself from doing something far more desperate. Who knows, I don't. I stop knowing myself a long time ago. I feel like a stranger in my own body. I feel like a ghost wandering through hallways I used to know...this place was my home once. I know it was. But, this place isn't home anymore. And I am not the girl I once was. I guess, that is usually what people say when they feel they have changed. There I go with the cliche lines. I guess there are just something that can not be put any better, than how they have already been explained. All I know is that if you are willing to waste time on me, then I will continue to lay here with you. I may not know how to give you the answers you want. I may not even make coherent sense half the time. But, I am always here when you need me. I know it takes me longer than most, but I am coming up with the answers...I promise. Don't count me out just yet. I am just some where in between dreams. I am letting go of the past to make room for you. So just give me time to clean out the closet, I will make room for your things soon. Just give it time.

LappeI du vide
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