Saturday, October 13, 2012

Writing is Therapy.

Sometimes all you can do is write because the words are the only tangible thing you have to make sense of what is going on in life.  Sometimes I write because if you spell it out and let the thoughts flow onto the screen it will help put the pieces of the puzzle together or bring blurry frames into focus.  So you write the words down in hopes that it helps.  Then you feel embarrassed when you post them for anyone to see because it is cliche and really, why would anyone care?  But you do it anyway because maybe it will kinda make you feel better for doing it. I don't doubt the therapeutic benefits of spilling the ink.  My first instinct is to write a poem. The words don't come out any more.  I feel like I have written it before. Its all the same crap in a different order.  The themes haven't changed.

But I want to write.

At times I look back.  Actually, its not that I look back.  It is more that I feel the empty, that hole, that missing.  I feel and recognize the void in my life that should be filled with an undying, deeply meaningful love for a wife I don't have and children that I desperately want.  I'm lonely. I'm tired of being lonely. I hate being good at being single. I'm really good at it. I can be alone. I am used to it. But my tank is on empty. That little orange light seems to be getting brighter with every day that passes.

It makes me sad.

I look at myself and wish, not that things were better, but that they were different.  I am too old to not have babies.  I am too old to not have spent years in love with a girl that makes me smile every time I see her or hear her voice or look at the ring on my finger.  I feel old.  I am old.  Maybe not old by the standards of the world around me or my life expectancy but by my own expectations. But I have spent too many years alone in bed with no one. No cold feet touching my leg, no covers being stolen and waking up freezing. Too many years waking up with nothing and no one. 

It wears me down.

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