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In the bleak midwinter...
There are things I hate knowing. Things I am told sometimes that I would forget. Instead I dredge them up when I need to hate myself for everything I've ever done or failed to do, and I use them to cut deeper than any blade ever would. Most of the time these things don't even involve me. Perhaps that is why it hurts.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I convince myself that every day is getting better. Sometimes I look in the mirror and only think of how much I've changed looking for happiness when I was happy before. Before I failed to say the things I should have to cause a clean break with no turning back, or forging a bond stronger than blood. It was THE failure of my life. The turning point.
I have been tested, and I failed.
Because of that I hang on a thread between love and loathing. No matter what I do I am alone. The harder I try the more often I fail. I keep convincing myself that maybe, just maybe, karma will kick in and things will get better. If I ever hurt anyone I never meant to. When I lied it was to protect myself or others.
There's a problem with love that was recently pointed out to me. When you love someone you leave a part of yourself with them. So I wonder sometimes, for as easily as I love, how much I have left to give. Please note, I said love.. not in love. That is where it gets complicated. The people you are or have been in love with take the most. But either way, after enough, it leaves you an empty husk.
I must be close to empty. Below a quarter tank, at least.
It's been said if you love something let it go. I let go. It hasn't come back. It must not have felt the same.
How long since I wrote of hearts breaking? How long until I will again?
Even the words are empty and devoid of emotion.
When we become husks, are we still human, and capable of feeling?
If one person breaks you too many times and you keep giving, does it do the same?
You are what I want. What I always wanted, once I grew up enough to know it.
"I could burn this place to the ground." |
