“It’s all the little things you know…A song, a smell, a certain laugh, a joke you want to share…The silence. All those things that remind you of what you do not have.
You are warned that love will hurt you, you are told that love is beautiful, but nobody can possibly tell of the wild confusion, or how your heart will grow so heavy it weighs your shoulders down. How your face will hurt to smile, and all your daily chores seem like masochistic torture.
There are so many more layers to love then a pen could ever illustrate. There are no words for the particular WANT which rides your head like a determined tick, sucking at your thoughts. There is only that cookie -cutter image implanted by society of white picket fences and soccer games on saturday.
This subject has been courted since long before I was ever born, by much more talented minds, but I can’t help myself. Writing in my journal is occasionally like popping a zit, ya just gotta get it out.
Sometimes I wish there were more words in the human language, so I could say what I really mean….Sometimes I think there is already too many, getting in the way of communication. Either way, I’m learning how to shape them, coax them into a pleasing form, even when they are ugly. Some people can make sculpture out of trash and discarded fancies, and I am doing just that with my pages. Filling notebooks with agonizing and melodramatic prose, words that nobody will ever hear. Shaping the garbage in my head into some sort of art.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle…”