trickles

Memories like water droplets, trickling through my mind. If my head were on a hinge, you could open it up and yell down as if it were a well. Maybe toss a penny for some pithy relief on my part, and idealistically...some luck. The penny would gain speed and spiral down my esophagus, ricocheting with a bang off my heart suddenly. It pulses, it thrives, it is cracked and demented but not beyond repair. What a pain to have a heart that is eager, wanting so desperately to entangle its veins around another and feel a mutual heartbeat. I feel closed off, wanting the comfort but distancing myself with more fear of the same things that have created a pattern in my life: rejection, abandonment, neglect/ ignorance, and let's not forget the newest edition of replacement. Again I will not wallow, but I can't necessarily choke back this unwelcome stream of liquid finding it's way into the corners of my eyes and staining my face publicly.

This sickness is mostly within, so if I were to request a hug...would you call me morbid if I asked you to plunge your arms inside my body and wrap them around my heart? Would it make you uncomfortable to slide your fingers inside my brain and decode this repetitive mourning? I digress.

I will do my best to keep reality in mind first, not my assumptions or anxieties. I yearn so pathetically to be happy again, but I cannot expect it as a chore for others to accomplish. This I must confront. I will hope for the best, so that maybe when you reach inside or listen I am not an empty well with a lonely echo, but filled with vines that stretch out from a garden that grew beautifully from my own growth or progress.

So cheers, in hopes for less annoying liquid.