What You Mean

What a motivator fear can be.  What a weird place I've found myself.  When similarities push at you from two unrelated sides and themes surface, and with them uncertainties.  And you start to wonder about parts of your own character that you used to be proud of -- now I have to wonder if all that is just a barrier to logic and correct action.  Loyalty.  Optimism.  Hope.  Now they just all seem naive, and I've never really liked that word.  Or that concept.  It always seemed like the mean way to say innocent.

I'm scared to try to reach into the well, with words, and pull someone out.  I'm afraid of having to take that picture frame down, and cry.  Directly related.  I'm scared of loss.  Opportunities.  Past.  Souls.  Selves.

I just want to get lost in the night-time.  I don't want to think.  I don't want to be present.  I want loud music I can screech out to the night.  Music loud enough to fill every particle of my skin and all the concentration in my head.  I'm not sure I'd even mind the headache.  Not eventual, but inescapable?  Oh, that's not the word I want.  Huh, I'll probably dream about that tonight.

Coward.

What a horrible thing to say.  To be.  Run away.  The words behind the pictures and feelings in your head.  Just a blur of color and hormones.  Soundless.  Made meaningful by language.  Needed.  Damn it all.  Just spill every thought that comes into my grey matter onto a screen.  Not a page.  This is the digital age after all.  Although, I suppose this is technically a page still, even if it is on the web.  Dang it all, technology, why don't you get your own words instead of thieving from antiquity.

I'm getting more and more tired.  I'm forcing myself to be here.  Not for too much longer.  Why when things are looking up do they lie so far down?

Don't lie to me.  Don't do it.  I'll listen to anything that you have to say, anything.  ANYTHING.  But, please, please, don't lie to me.  I don't deserve that.  I've never done one single thing to make you lie to me.  Either of you.  Nothing could possibly hurt me more.  Is hurting me now?   Stories, not adding up.  Missing the link between the two sides of the river, forest, whatever thing that needs a path, bridge, ship between them.  I don't want to try to decide for myself who is telling me the complete story and who is leaving just enough bits out to make the remainder lies.

I want to be there for you.  But I want to say to you what you need to hear.  I want to hang out with you.  I want everything to be okay between us.

"Say anything, but say what you mean."