I have way too much time to think. I write as an outlet cause quite frankly I’m scared to do anything else. Words. My words are what I have left. My words might change this situation. Maybe inspire someone else. MY words… a direct interpretation of what I FEEL. I own them. The only thing I have control over it seems.
My mind annoyingly replays past moments subconsciously critiquing what I could have done differently with my life. I was so busy living reckless and enjoying the freedom of not caring. I find myself thinking about others mostly now and I’m not sure why. What do others think of me now? Why do I care? Have I done right by those I’ve come in contact with? Can I forgive? Do I want to forget? Where are the ones I want most? Why do I want them? Is what I feel real?
I wonder about the souls I’ve touched with my words or actions all the time. As you can tell I’m left with more questions as of late. Mainly… Who am I in all this?
Somewhere in the isolation… the silence… the countless hours I’ve watched go by on the clock on the wall, I’ve noticed I’m missing something. There’s this agonizing anxious feeling that aimlessly goes nowhere. I need to exert this energy into something that gives me instant gratification regardless of the consequences. I need to devastate something. Alter its intended path. I’m acting out…
We sometimes have the tendency to lose our identity within the things designed to challenge us. Becoming the emotion as opposed to feeling them. I think that is what scares me. I don’t want to become anger. I’m not a negative person just someone experiencing negative things.
I’m a lover. The very essence of my being, my psychological makeup, the filter of my life is love. I’m passionate about the things that touch my soul. To be a lover I feel as though one has embraced and completely consumed themselves with the beauty of their vulnerabilities. I can’t help but wonder if the things happening to me are robbing that lover of truly expressing who she is. I’m having a hard time connecting with anything nowadays, aside from this machine. Conversations are shorter but my heart longs to grasp a hold of yours and let you know that although I’m silent everything wants to confess to you how I feel. A free spirit… Caged and domesticated by routines and a diagnosis. Nurses poke and prod my veins with needles filled with drugs to make me feel better negating the fact that I’m in a fragile state. I am a human. This hurts. Stop touching me and stop repeating these medical terms that mean little to nothing to me any more.
I hear my heart beat on these heart monitors and wonder am I still in tune with the life I worked tirelessly to build. Things are so different.
Will I ever see the moon on the opposite side of earth again? Will love find someone lost and do I even want to be found? Will the dream I’ve held in my heart ever manifest itself? How far will my words travel and could they ever take me there?
Will that lover let herself be known again?
Im thinking too much. Thinking out loud.
dededos
prguitarman
2087
vaporwave
titsay
