I've been very reflective lately. This urge I've got, to put my feelings to page, rather than a story, is exhausting. I'm wrestling every day with how much is too much. There is so much I want from this. So much it feels like I need. And the doubt is excruciating. Especially considering my latest mudslide. Sometimes the need seems physical. Like, I get so keyed up that I vibrate with it.
When I was very young, 3 I think, I remember driving my mother nuts one day with my need. I would write strings of letters down, run to her on the couch, and ask her what they said. And she would sigh, replying, "Nothing." Undeterred, I would run (always running) back to my room, write another "sentence", and repeat the process. This seems significant somehow.
I can feel it. I swear I can. The inevitability of it seems real, I guess. That's the only way I know how to describe it, and the farthest I'm willing to go in regards to commitment. But there's that other inevitability, the one I really can't describe, warring with it. If I could elaborate, I might. Probably not. But I can't, so it's a moot point.
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