I’ve been wandering around wondering if I have feelings left
to hurt. When I’m alone, I’m almost certain that I’m heartless and soulless.
When you’re in limbo you find yourself with your head in the
clouds, or anywhere other than the present moment, to avoid reality. Because
reality does bite once it’s past the teething stage. And what do you know? I have no Anbesol to
take the edge off.
Bottom line: I don’t believe in love anymore. I never
believed in finding “the one” in the first place.
Hoping this is just a stage, a transition.
Baby steps. Baby steps, I tell myself. With time this
confusion will pass. I need to recognize this despite the fact that it seems impossible
for me to move on. Obsessing is part of how I was built.
How many times did I endure the heartache? How many times do
I look back and say, that was the moment? That was the moment you should have
left. There are so many moments, in retrospect, that I start to lose count. But
no worries, it’s all written down somewhere. So that when I stumble across it
in my wayward travels I experience hell afresh.
I keep stopping to tell myself that the years were not
wasted. After all, I was becoming someone, and even managed to create someone.
Such a little beauty that seems to represent the best that was ever in us.
You do get to that point where you think you no longer have
the capacity to feel. Then the thought of no longer being able to feel , or a
memory, or a song on the radio, makes you wail.
