Dear K-
What's wrong with me? I try to make things work that I need to abandon as broken. How much longer am I going to keep saying to myself "maybe this time it'll be different"? I'm not happy in my current relationship. I haven't been happy for a while. I've been trying to fix things: make myself less judgmental, more friendly, more positive. I read somewhere that sometimes just making the effort every morning to tell you significant other "I love you" that it can be psychologically beneficial for each of you. I tried it. But it just feels empty. It feels forced. I hate myself when I say it, because I think he knows I feel guilty. I do feel guilty. I feel guilty that I can't just quip it out without even a doubt, give him a peck on the cheek, then go off to work, dreaming of the moment I get to come back home to his arms. My life doesn't have that sparkle. I don't expect things to be perfect, but I want at least something positive. Something worth staying for.
Instead, I find us getting into arguments over the tiniest things. I have even been making a conscious effort to stop starting fights over things I know are not big deals. But he finds the ways to aggravate and annoy me to the point where I just fall silent because I can't think of anything nice to say. You know the old phrase. But then he gets upset at me for "not being fun" or he takes my silence as disapproval. He's not entirely far from the mark.
The other day we went out to lunch. In the middle of our meal, which was being eaten in silence while he browsed his phone and I got lost in my own thoughts, a young man sat down a few seats away from us at the bar. I overheard him politely place his order, which was exactly the same as mine except a different beverage. He then proceeded to pull out a small notebook, full of scribbled writing, and started to make an entry while he waited for his food. He was painfully attractive. I found myself staring. I found myself thinking "if I was single, I would try to engage him in conversation in a heartbeat." But instead I glanced over at my boyfriend, looking dissheveled and unshowered, and felt my heart sink like a brick into a lake. Where did I go wrong?
Am I always going to feel discontent? Am I seeking something that isn't attainable? Why do I try so hard to achieve what should come more naturally? Who am I fooling anymore?
And yet I am too cowardly to abandon and hurt the one connection I still have to the social world.
I heard a song one time that mentioned that if you didn't like what you were catching, maybe it was time to change the bait.
Perhaps I am the problem.
Happy new year,
-k
Monday, January 4, 2016
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Hark The Herald Angel Sings
Dear K,
I hope this day finds you well. I've been getting into the hippier side of thinking about things lately. Winter is powerful isn't it? Even if it's not cold, it's a time of darkness and struggle and strife. It is a time of fasting, for the soul and the mind. It is a cleansing time. We just had the winter soulstice, the darkest time of year for us in the northern hemisphere. We are passing through the shadow, and this is a time where we can easily sort through what we want to lose and what we want to keep. I'm sorting through all the parts of myself that I want to lose and what I want to keep.
I talked to B last night, and the night before. I'm in a strange place. I love her so very much. I love her desperately. Simultaneously, I know I don't want to be in a relationship with her. Or at least not in the relationship that we were in. We just want such different things. We're very different people that want so desperately to convince the other of our way of thinking, and we're not in a relationship. I saw to that. I think in the long run it will be for the best, but fuck it hurts.
I'm never happier than when I'm in pain though. I need a boulder to roll up the hill.
Lots of religions say that life is suffering.
I love suffering, it makes me feel alive.
May your suffering be sweet,
K
Merry Christmas
I hope this day finds you well. I've been getting into the hippier side of thinking about things lately. Winter is powerful isn't it? Even if it's not cold, it's a time of darkness and struggle and strife. It is a time of fasting, for the soul and the mind. It is a cleansing time. We just had the winter soulstice, the darkest time of year for us in the northern hemisphere. We are passing through the shadow, and this is a time where we can easily sort through what we want to lose and what we want to keep. I'm sorting through all the parts of myself that I want to lose and what I want to keep.
I talked to B last night, and the night before. I'm in a strange place. I love her so very much. I love her desperately. Simultaneously, I know I don't want to be in a relationship with her. Or at least not in the relationship that we were in. We just want such different things. We're very different people that want so desperately to convince the other of our way of thinking, and we're not in a relationship. I saw to that. I think in the long run it will be for the best, but fuck it hurts.
I'm never happier than when I'm in pain though. I need a boulder to roll up the hill.
Lots of religions say that life is suffering.
I love suffering, it makes me feel alive.
May your suffering be sweet,
K
Merry Christmas
Friday, December 18, 2015
i try not to worry but i always worry
Dear K-
Things have been set spinning. I have been trying to concentrate on finding things that make me happy to smooth the stormy seas. The guilty pleasures that inexplicably bring me peace. Unfortunately, there is never enough time to devote to these diversions as I might wish.
I almost called in sick to work this week, even though I was not plagued by any physical ailment. The environment in the office has been terrible, and I have very little to look forward to in the morning except the moment I get to walk back out the door and head home. I started a jigsaw puzzle this past weekend. It is one of my aforementioned diversions. I have discovered that I am rarely more at ease than when I am alone, working tirelessly on a puzzle. I forget to eat. I forget to sleep. I am completely disconnected and it feels so inexplicably blissful. On Tuesday, I wanted to call in sick and just work all day on my puzzle. Of course, the voice of reason came in the form of a boyfriend who reminded me my patients depend upon me. So I begrudgingly carried off to work, put in long hours and in the momentum of the day momentarily forgot about what I had abandoned at home as I focused my attention on those who had sought me out for help. But as soon as I closed the last patient file, I remembered. It brought a sense of ease. I glided over the highways in the dark, slipped back into my home, and ate a small meal while hunched over the pieces. It was everything I could have wanted.
Another diversion I re-discovered was writing smutty detective stories. I know these tales will never be read. I know that they are trash. But it feels good to be productive. It feels good to be distracted from the present.
I have to go to the office holiday party. It isn’t going to be a good time. We had an employee who was leaving us at the end of the month to pursue a different, more lucrative job opportunity. She was leaving on good terms. I liked her. I wished her the best of luck. However, my boss made a very sloppy decision yesterday to tell her she was not allowed to come to the office holiday party because he felt betrayed about her leaving. He told her she wasn’t welcome because she made everyone feel unhappy. She rightfully felt insulted, grabbed her things and left. I never got to say goodbye. I won’t get to give her the little holiday gift I purchased for her. I am just going to sit at dinner wondering how much alcohol I can sneak into my system without anyone noticing, and how long I have to stay in order to put in a good appearance before I slink back home to my puzzle.
I understand your desire to have a goal. Resolutions can be helpful. I have been trying to improve my disposition, hence the resurgence of my diversions to help give me a sense of purpose. Something to do with my hands. I have failed with more broad, over-arching aims, so I have set myself to simple tasks. Puzzles. Writing without expectations. Sometimes the smallest things can weild a large amount of psychological effect.
We’re artists, you and I. Sometimes it is easier to construct our fantasies than to confront reality. We are so used to the ease of smudging in a shadow where we see it fitting, or changing a line of dialogue if the established doesn’t flow as we’d like. It is so frustrating to not have that leisurely freedom to alter aspects of our daily lives with such ease.
It's time I start holding myself accountable for some of those artistic flourishes.
Seasonably yours,
-K
Things have been set spinning. I have been trying to concentrate on finding things that make me happy to smooth the stormy seas. The guilty pleasures that inexplicably bring me peace. Unfortunately, there is never enough time to devote to these diversions as I might wish.
I almost called in sick to work this week, even though I was not plagued by any physical ailment. The environment in the office has been terrible, and I have very little to look forward to in the morning except the moment I get to walk back out the door and head home. I started a jigsaw puzzle this past weekend. It is one of my aforementioned diversions. I have discovered that I am rarely more at ease than when I am alone, working tirelessly on a puzzle. I forget to eat. I forget to sleep. I am completely disconnected and it feels so inexplicably blissful. On Tuesday, I wanted to call in sick and just work all day on my puzzle. Of course, the voice of reason came in the form of a boyfriend who reminded me my patients depend upon me. So I begrudgingly carried off to work, put in long hours and in the momentum of the day momentarily forgot about what I had abandoned at home as I focused my attention on those who had sought me out for help. But as soon as I closed the last patient file, I remembered. It brought a sense of ease. I glided over the highways in the dark, slipped back into my home, and ate a small meal while hunched over the pieces. It was everything I could have wanted.
Another diversion I re-discovered was writing smutty detective stories. I know these tales will never be read. I know that they are trash. But it feels good to be productive. It feels good to be distracted from the present.
I have to go to the office holiday party. It isn’t going to be a good time. We had an employee who was leaving us at the end of the month to pursue a different, more lucrative job opportunity. She was leaving on good terms. I liked her. I wished her the best of luck. However, my boss made a very sloppy decision yesterday to tell her she was not allowed to come to the office holiday party because he felt betrayed about her leaving. He told her she wasn’t welcome because she made everyone feel unhappy. She rightfully felt insulted, grabbed her things and left. I never got to say goodbye. I won’t get to give her the little holiday gift I purchased for her. I am just going to sit at dinner wondering how much alcohol I can sneak into my system without anyone noticing, and how long I have to stay in order to put in a good appearance before I slink back home to my puzzle.
I understand your desire to have a goal. Resolutions can be helpful. I have been trying to improve my disposition, hence the resurgence of my diversions to help give me a sense of purpose. Something to do with my hands. I have failed with more broad, over-arching aims, so I have set myself to simple tasks. Puzzles. Writing without expectations. Sometimes the smallest things can weild a large amount of psychological effect.
We’re artists, you and I. Sometimes it is easier to construct our fantasies than to confront reality. We are so used to the ease of smudging in a shadow where we see it fitting, or changing a line of dialogue if the established doesn’t flow as we’d like. It is so frustrating to not have that leisurely freedom to alter aspects of our daily lives with such ease.
It's time I start holding myself accountable for some of those artistic flourishes.
Seasonably yours,
-K
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
This Dying Year
Dear K,
Your video was lovely. Thank you. I'm sorry your boss is an asshat. I'm sorry you're feeling dissatisfied with your relationship. That happens sometimes. I usually split when that happens. I usually convince everyone around me that I should split when that happens. The clock is ticking and we'll never win against it.
We imagine such intricate cages for ourselves don't we? You talk about the only escape route for you being Vietnam or Europe, these are the places you imagine happiness. I imagine the only place I'll be the right mix of happy and miserable is in the arms of a former lover. We've become very good at imagining away the world, at saying only this and only that. Perhaps there are more than two choices? Perhaps there are an infinite amount of choices. Perhaps the dichotomy of stay or leave is false? What if there are no dichotomies? No this or that. Only both, and a million other things.
Or maybe we're only happy when we're sad?
All I know is I want to be more present. I want to have a goal, and I want to work on it every day.
Yours in spirit-kinship,
Forever,
K
Your video was lovely. Thank you. I'm sorry your boss is an asshat. I'm sorry you're feeling dissatisfied with your relationship. That happens sometimes. I usually split when that happens. I usually convince everyone around me that I should split when that happens. The clock is ticking and we'll never win against it.
We imagine such intricate cages for ourselves don't we? You talk about the only escape route for you being Vietnam or Europe, these are the places you imagine happiness. I imagine the only place I'll be the right mix of happy and miserable is in the arms of a former lover. We've become very good at imagining away the world, at saying only this and only that. Perhaps there are more than two choices? Perhaps there are an infinite amount of choices. Perhaps the dichotomy of stay or leave is false? What if there are no dichotomies? No this or that. Only both, and a million other things.
Or maybe we're only happy when we're sad?
All I know is I want to be more present. I want to have a goal, and I want to work on it every day.
Yours in spirit-kinship,
Forever,
K
Friday, December 4, 2015
the flicker of sunlight through closed eyelids
Dear K-
I am sorry I was delayed in returning correspondence. This week has been a week. I’m too tired to even confront the adjectives necessary to describe it.
You’re stuck in a vicious cycle. This girl dug her nails into your heart a long, long time ago and carved in her sign. It may not be visible to others at first, but it’s there, continually drawing you back to her and making you cringe away from other possibilities. Those initials are an invisible tether that tugs your heartstrings until you find yourself talking to her again, imagining her eyes again, listening to her voice that has been entombed for your misery forever on a digital archive. But it’s a siren song, K, and you and I both know that you are drifting dangerously close to the rocky shoreline. You may not be able to hear the crash of the waves on stone because you are too mesmerized by those dulcimer chords, her gentle inhale and exhale masking the peril lurking at their source, but let me be the raven that cries a warning. Heed it if you desire. And if not, be honest with yourself of what lies ahead. It doesn’t matter what I think, in the end. All I can offer are words on a page and a sentiment of apprehension. It comes down to you realizing what you want and whether you’re willing to do what it takes to get it.
Lord knows I’m not willing to do what it takes. And that’s part of my problem.
I almost called you three days ago. I was driving home on a rainy, dark evening after a miserable day of work and I was questioning all my most recent decisions. I was a heartbeat away from applying to live in Vietnam. Sometimes I just get so startled about where I am in life; I feel like a hurt wild animal backed into a corner, desperately searching for an exit to bolt for at the first opportunity.
My job is miserable. My boss reads my mail, rummages through my desk, reads all my patient charts. He treats me like a child. The holiday with my boyfriend was lackluster. He drinks so much I feel physically repulsed by him. I slept in the guest bed for days, lying and saying I was feeling ill and didn’t want to risk infecting him. When in reality in was my heart that was sick. I still think I love him, but sometimes I can’t help but find myself wondering if there’s not something better. Something where I don’t always feel like I am compromising. Something where I don’t feel like I am always getting angry about stupid little details. But I always do. I am beginning to think the problem isn’t always the boyfriend and is more likely myself. In all the years, in all the relationships, there’s only one common denominator. And that’s me.
And so I considered up-ending everything and moving to Vietnam for a year. They need fresh optometrists to teach students at a new school they are trying to establish. I still might apply for the position. I still might do it. But I keep asking myself: how many times can I run away? Especially if I am just trying to run away from myself?
I am going to send you something to try to distract you from B. It is something you can laugh at, sing along to, delete, cry to, whatever you want so long as it gives you something to relax your mind for just a few moments. Maybe it will help your quest to be positive.
Let’s be positive. Tomorrow I get to participate in a state-wide pub trivia tournament. We were ranked in the top 40 teams for the entire state for the season and so we get a chance to win the big prize. I am looking forward to it. The trivia nights are one of the few points where I feel relaxed and happy. Maybe it is because the trivia distracts me from everything else and I am free to forget my surroundings and retreat into my mind palace.
I drank three cups of tea so far today at work and there’s nothing my boss can do about it. He may disrespect my privacy and belittle me but he can never take away my freedom to drink as much god damn tea as I want.
So, cheers.
-K
I am sorry I was delayed in returning correspondence. This week has been a week. I’m too tired to even confront the adjectives necessary to describe it.
You’re stuck in a vicious cycle. This girl dug her nails into your heart a long, long time ago and carved in her sign. It may not be visible to others at first, but it’s there, continually drawing you back to her and making you cringe away from other possibilities. Those initials are an invisible tether that tugs your heartstrings until you find yourself talking to her again, imagining her eyes again, listening to her voice that has been entombed for your misery forever on a digital archive. But it’s a siren song, K, and you and I both know that you are drifting dangerously close to the rocky shoreline. You may not be able to hear the crash of the waves on stone because you are too mesmerized by those dulcimer chords, her gentle inhale and exhale masking the peril lurking at their source, but let me be the raven that cries a warning. Heed it if you desire. And if not, be honest with yourself of what lies ahead. It doesn’t matter what I think, in the end. All I can offer are words on a page and a sentiment of apprehension. It comes down to you realizing what you want and whether you’re willing to do what it takes to get it.
Lord knows I’m not willing to do what it takes. And that’s part of my problem.
I almost called you three days ago. I was driving home on a rainy, dark evening after a miserable day of work and I was questioning all my most recent decisions. I was a heartbeat away from applying to live in Vietnam. Sometimes I just get so startled about where I am in life; I feel like a hurt wild animal backed into a corner, desperately searching for an exit to bolt for at the first opportunity.
My job is miserable. My boss reads my mail, rummages through my desk, reads all my patient charts. He treats me like a child. The holiday with my boyfriend was lackluster. He drinks so much I feel physically repulsed by him. I slept in the guest bed for days, lying and saying I was feeling ill and didn’t want to risk infecting him. When in reality in was my heart that was sick. I still think I love him, but sometimes I can’t help but find myself wondering if there’s not something better. Something where I don’t always feel like I am compromising. Something where I don’t feel like I am always getting angry about stupid little details. But I always do. I am beginning to think the problem isn’t always the boyfriend and is more likely myself. In all the years, in all the relationships, there’s only one common denominator. And that’s me.
And so I considered up-ending everything and moving to Vietnam for a year. They need fresh optometrists to teach students at a new school they are trying to establish. I still might apply for the position. I still might do it. But I keep asking myself: how many times can I run away? Especially if I am just trying to run away from myself?
I am going to send you something to try to distract you from B. It is something you can laugh at, sing along to, delete, cry to, whatever you want so long as it gives you something to relax your mind for just a few moments. Maybe it will help your quest to be positive.
Let’s be positive. Tomorrow I get to participate in a state-wide pub trivia tournament. We were ranked in the top 40 teams for the entire state for the season and so we get a chance to win the big prize. I am looking forward to it. The trivia nights are one of the few points where I feel relaxed and happy. Maybe it is because the trivia distracts me from everything else and I am free to forget my surroundings and retreat into my mind palace.
I drank three cups of tea so far today at work and there’s nothing my boss can do about it. He may disrespect my privacy and belittle me but he can never take away my freedom to drink as much god damn tea as I want.
So, cheers.
-K
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Dear K,
It's me again. I couldn't wait for you to write back. I'm listening to her. I've got this handy little device that will let me fill my head and heart with pain whenever I want. It is better than a bottle of whiskey.
It's a little like a radio, but it only plays the three songs she has posted online, and I listen to the one she wrote about me where she said she needs my kisses up and down her arms, and I am lost. I am in a labyrinth of self-torment and regrets. I went to my therapist today, and I told her more about my relationship with B. My therapist and I realized as we talked that I wouldn't say anything purely from my perspective. I wouldn't say I saw this or I felt that, but I would say my friends and family said this and thought that. Where did I lose myself? When did I lose myself? Did I ever have one? Somewhere along the way everything became so unsteady in my head. If you told me east was north long enough I'm sure I would believe you. I sometimes feel like I'm living in a nightmare. A very sinister nightmare and the horrifying twist is that it is real life, and I won't wake up in it, I'll just keep sleeping through it, and nothing that I do will ever matter. Just grease sliding down a pan, or snow melting in a parking lot. I guess we'll only find out if happiness comes to us in the end. How do I make it better? How do I make it better? How do I make myself better? I want to be Superman, but all I am is a little scared kid in a towel.
That was all negative and I'm trying to be positive. Start with gratitude. I'm thankful for myself. I'm thankful for this shell to walk around the world in. I am thankful that I like to smile, and hug, and kiss, and brush hair away from eyes, and wink, and hold hands, and give back rubs. I am thankful for the people around me, and I am thankful for the opportunity to practice compassion. Every day I can get better. Every day the slate is clean, and thank god I can practice my mandalas again. I am thankful for my friends and my family. I am thankful that I can pour my youthful angsty heart out to you. I am thankful for you my friend. I am thankful for life. I am thankful for the sun and the moon and the waves and punk rock. I am thankful for Jazz and sunsets and porch swings and the taste of my blood. I am thankful for hot ovens and mediocre showers and long long long bicycle rides. I am thankful for cigarettes and cheap wine. I am thankful for salads and Japanese noodles. I am thankful for women and their curves and smiles and softness and scents and loving hands. I am thankful for my little curve of the rainbow of time. I get to see so many marvelous things.
I feel better now.
Goodnight, all my hopes and prayers,
K.
It's me again. I couldn't wait for you to write back. I'm listening to her. I've got this handy little device that will let me fill my head and heart with pain whenever I want. It is better than a bottle of whiskey.
It's a little like a radio, but it only plays the three songs she has posted online, and I listen to the one she wrote about me where she said she needs my kisses up and down her arms, and I am lost. I am in a labyrinth of self-torment and regrets. I went to my therapist today, and I told her more about my relationship with B. My therapist and I realized as we talked that I wouldn't say anything purely from my perspective. I wouldn't say I saw this or I felt that, but I would say my friends and family said this and thought that. Where did I lose myself? When did I lose myself? Did I ever have one? Somewhere along the way everything became so unsteady in my head. If you told me east was north long enough I'm sure I would believe you. I sometimes feel like I'm living in a nightmare. A very sinister nightmare and the horrifying twist is that it is real life, and I won't wake up in it, I'll just keep sleeping through it, and nothing that I do will ever matter. Just grease sliding down a pan, or snow melting in a parking lot. I guess we'll only find out if happiness comes to us in the end. How do I make it better? How do I make it better? How do I make myself better? I want to be Superman, but all I am is a little scared kid in a towel.
That was all negative and I'm trying to be positive. Start with gratitude. I'm thankful for myself. I'm thankful for this shell to walk around the world in. I am thankful that I like to smile, and hug, and kiss, and brush hair away from eyes, and wink, and hold hands, and give back rubs. I am thankful for the people around me, and I am thankful for the opportunity to practice compassion. Every day I can get better. Every day the slate is clean, and thank god I can practice my mandalas again. I am thankful for my friends and my family. I am thankful that I can pour my youthful angsty heart out to you. I am thankful for you my friend. I am thankful for life. I am thankful for the sun and the moon and the waves and punk rock. I am thankful for Jazz and sunsets and porch swings and the taste of my blood. I am thankful for hot ovens and mediocre showers and long long long bicycle rides. I am thankful for cigarettes and cheap wine. I am thankful for salads and Japanese noodles. I am thankful for women and their curves and smiles and softness and scents and loving hands. I am thankful for my little curve of the rainbow of time. I get to see so many marvelous things.
I feel better now.
Goodnight, all my hopes and prayers,
K.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Say You'll Remember Me After They Give You A Sponge Filled With Vinegar
Dear K,
It was so good to talk to you tonight. We really let those floodgates rip. I didn't call you because you texted me on my way home from work, I think I would have called you anyway. I called you because I knew in that moment that I needed to talk to you. Somehow over the years we have formed a bond where I just let everything fly at you.
Thank you.
When we got off the phone you were walking into a bar and so was I.
I sat down and ordered a martini. The bar was almost empty. Seven O'clock on a Wednesday. I started talking with the strangers at the bar. Well, stranger. She was the only other person there by herself, and I felt light and free, and so I pulled out all the stops and I was as charming and interesting and positive as I could be. I was too friendly.
After she asked my name I got wise.
I pushed in all the stops I'd pulled out. I met up with friends and said nice to meet you.
I spent the night talking to my friends and texting that old wound in my heart. The one that won't heal. The one that lives in Atlanta. It's still bleeding. As I was picking at it in front of my friends, I'd put down my phone and say that I needed to stop, it wasn't healthy. They laughed it off, but I kept sticking my fingers in, kept pulling at the edges looking for the signs of wear, looking for scars. By the end of the second martini I was ready to rip the whole damn thing out.
There aren't any scars. I've got a god damn stigmata on my heart.
On the walk home I realized that maybe nothing heals in there, maybe some things just pierce us deeper and truer, like spears that run us through. Maybe all we can do is let it consume us, let our hearts pump our lifeblood out in big watery spurts over the sidewalk. Maybe we should tear those wounds wide open and jump in. Maybe we should get down off of our crosses and really take a look. Maybe we should just do what we know we want to do but we're too scared to do. Maybe we should stay on our crosses and suffer for all eternity.
Or maybe we should forget the whole thing and go into the desert.
I don't know.
I'm tired and I'm going to bed.
All My Earthly Love,
K
It was so good to talk to you tonight. We really let those floodgates rip. I didn't call you because you texted me on my way home from work, I think I would have called you anyway. I called you because I knew in that moment that I needed to talk to you. Somehow over the years we have formed a bond where I just let everything fly at you.
Thank you.
When we got off the phone you were walking into a bar and so was I.
I sat down and ordered a martini. The bar was almost empty. Seven O'clock on a Wednesday. I started talking with the strangers at the bar. Well, stranger. She was the only other person there by herself, and I felt light and free, and so I pulled out all the stops and I was as charming and interesting and positive as I could be. I was too friendly.
After she asked my name I got wise.
I pushed in all the stops I'd pulled out. I met up with friends and said nice to meet you.
I spent the night talking to my friends and texting that old wound in my heart. The one that won't heal. The one that lives in Atlanta. It's still bleeding. As I was picking at it in front of my friends, I'd put down my phone and say that I needed to stop, it wasn't healthy. They laughed it off, but I kept sticking my fingers in, kept pulling at the edges looking for the signs of wear, looking for scars. By the end of the second martini I was ready to rip the whole damn thing out.
There aren't any scars. I've got a god damn stigmata on my heart.
On the walk home I realized that maybe nothing heals in there, maybe some things just pierce us deeper and truer, like spears that run us through. Maybe all we can do is let it consume us, let our hearts pump our lifeblood out in big watery spurts over the sidewalk. Maybe we should tear those wounds wide open and jump in. Maybe we should get down off of our crosses and really take a look. Maybe we should just do what we know we want to do but we're too scared to do. Maybe we should stay on our crosses and suffer for all eternity.
Or maybe we should forget the whole thing and go into the desert.
I don't know.
I'm tired and I'm going to bed.
All My Earthly Love,
K
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