How can I feel that my life is empty when it is so clearly full? How can I think that my life is full when it is so clearly empty?
Late I night I write sad stories. Tales of trials and tribulations that temper the terrible tangents that my mind follows. Letters to long lost parts of my psyche.
Late at night, I am exhausted. I let my guard down and my heart creeps out.
It tells me that it’s hurting. That distraction doesn’t nullify the pain. That keeping myself occupied only gives me the illusion that I can hide.
I’ve been blessed with circumstance. Things that I think make my life great. But I can’t help but feel that something’s gone.
In the day my heart is feather light. I can carry it around all day and barely even know it’s there. But when the world outside goes quiet. The noise and distraction turn down. At the moments when there is no one around my heart is heavy.
Dawn to dusk, I can keep it locked up and held tight. I can face the world and say I’m alright. I can hold it steady until late at night.
Late at night while darkness creeps through windows, and my heart creeps out of its cage.
It tells me that it’s not okay.
It tells me that I’ve spent my entire life looking for love.
Seeking respect and adoration, to make up for lost affection.
They always say “I love you.”
I never say it back.
It can’t matter that much, that one word.
But after 24 years of linguistics that silence is surely heard.
And the message is communicated, without saying a word.
I don’t think they know what love is.
They don’t care for me to explain.
And man,
That hurts.
It burns the end of a cigarette rubbed into my skin.
It reminds me that in 5 years of travel there is one place I have never been.
Home.
And it hurts, feeling that alone.
As a child, sitting in the basement of a house.
Living the life of a mouse.
Where the lack of interest punctuated by anger makes you feel like happiness is a stranger.
And you never,
Talk to strangers.
While I sat one floor below and we’d communicate in silence.
And the words left unsaid but still heard are we’d better off without you.
And as a kid I had no reason to doubt you.
A decade later when distractions disappear the same memories still emerge.
The same voice that I ignore, and ignore, and ignore
Still DEMANDING to be heard.
And the loneliness living in me never willing to be purged.
The lonely child waiting for words with meaning.
Words that are never heard.
So I don’t say them back.
And I’m sorry that hurts.
Suffering is not the intention of my silence.
Silence is me saving meaning.
I hold those words close, and I keep them true
So when the day comes and the pain is gone
I can give them back to you.
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