there is so little existing of lightness, in this heart of mine. in this body. as my fingers dance, finding letters as I go. I pause...for the longest time.
is this really who I am ? on the one hand so childish, on the other so dark. all I want to do is climb back into bed and cover my head with the blankets. disappear back into my lonely dreams.
I've always been so obsessed with the fixing of everything, I just cannot accept that I am not responsible for every broken thing in the world. I talk of myself as though I were the mother of the Earth. but what have I ever fixed. I guess I must accept that I am only human.
I feel shivers across the back of my neck and I feel the welling of tears. if it weren't Christmas.
would it matter so.
if it were not so cold. would I feel less guilty.this wrongful guilt.this guilt that comes from something uncommon.
this putting myself first. I struggle to stick to it.
I long to throw myself back into the flames.
because I see no signs to tell me I have done right.only this black hole of anguish.
so I stand here. waiting for lightness, that never comes.
everything must be destroyed.
everything needs renewal.