Expose

I've been been hiding lately. I don't answer the phone, I don't return very many emails. I'm afraid people will leave me. I'm afraid people will see the real me and leave. Call it self pity if you want. I don't care. I have lived in this skin long enough to know what I'm talking about. I can't make anyone understand this right now. There aren't words for it. Just tears. I think when you deal with the core of all that you are, that's the place where words don't exist. Maybe that's why there are so many tongues and one sense of loss, or one sense of belonging.

In my wildest dreams I look to belong somewhere, even if I have to learn a million tongues and wander around till I find it.

This is the only way I know it will get better.

Quietly

I've been up for awhile now. I've taken my morning meds, been to the coffee shop, finished reading a book, flirted with the barista, cleaned out my computer and the socks strewn about my floor.

Today I want to go down to the water. On the coast there are twenty to twenty five foot waves coming in and I wish I could see them. But my car broke down a few years ago and I don't have one now. So the river here in town will have to suffice. I would say I'd give anything to see the waves today but that isn't true. I mean who would I give anything to? And would I really give anything?

I can hear my upstairs neighbors walking around. The floor boards squeak with their every step. Last night I heard them making love by the way the boards moved slow, and then rhythmically and then all at once faster and faster. What sold me on renting this place was the soundproof walls and ceilings. No one mentioned floorboards.

I wonder sometimes if I'll ever fall in love. If I'm actually available for that. I don't know though, I tend to lose myself inside of even my close friendships. And then I find out that I was infatuated with my close friends and those relationships for awhile. But short lived passion seems to be my calling card.

The one constant in my life is writing and God. Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of questions about writing and God, but at least I know I can still ask them and remember who I am. I suppose if writing were an entity, a living breathing person I'd fall in love with its form too. The funny thing is, I know God is alive, but I haven't fallen in love yet. Maybe because I'm too much me around him.

Yep, today I'm going to get on the streetcar, I'm going to walk in the rain, the rain that can't seem to decide if it wants to come in sideways, be fat and splash, or just fall; and go down to the water.

Look for waves of my own.

Landing

I've been away for awhile. I don't really know why. I mean I have no fancy words and no valid excuses. I'm not even sure I have to explain, and if I did who would I have to explain to? I hate to presume that people have missed what I have to say.

I think I just got caught up in things that happen everyday. I haven't seen any beauty in the mundane lately either. I was thinking about it the other day though, this whole self-imposed quiet. I think because I have friends who seem to drain the lifeblood out of me without wanting anything in return or giving anything in return, I've been hesitant to share what is underneath my smiles and nods.

I am not a drinker, I don't go to bars, I don't like big crowds and I find small talk boring. I have friends who need to drink to feel and I can't say that I get anything from that. Honestly, I feel like I've been preoccupied with trying to be someone I'm not.

Today I stayed home and listened to music really loud and then sat in quiet. The phone hasn't rang and I love it. Actually if it has rang, I wouldn't know, I've turned it off.

I need to turn something back on inside of me. Because just the other day, even the beautiful things I saw, bothered me.

Two Windows