I wandered downtown at rush hour and
Tried in vain to look someone in the eyes
Great gaping wounds of longing erupt on my skin
They can smell it, they must see it on me
This vast emptiness encompassing my soul
Straight down to the marrow
Bones vibrating through, the incessant need
To be held, to be loved
For the altruistic act of one hand on each
Side of my face, probing my psyche
Reading my mind, repenting me of my sins
Allowing me to lift the omnipresent shroud of guilt
From memory, blessing me with metamorphosis
Aligning me with gentle nudges to the right path
At long last
3AM Thoughts // AKA “She Told Me To Repent My Sins & I Didn’t Know Where To Begin.”
The sickening moment of
It can’t be real, go back
The infinitesimal seconds between before and
After where everything is different
When it’s all so new that
You can’t even feel the hurt yet
The twenty-three seconds of suspense
Of self-induced purgatory, of serendipitous imbalance
Floating in a daze and staring in wonderment at
Karmic retribution, a vicious circle
The tricks a tired brain plays and
The drunk heavy tongue telling you it could have been worse
And you know it’s true but you still want
Seventy-five seconds of mourning
Or maybe twenty-four hours of loathing
Cursing the ill-fated luck that brought you
This lesson, imaging what you could have done differently until
It all blurs and you lose touch with reality
3AM Thoughts // AKA “He Watches With Disdain As I Disappear Inside My Mind.”
I am turning to stone, nothing moves me or interests me any more.
// Virginia Woolf
But my nerves are scattered across the sky in a fruitless fever.
// Virginia Woolf
You belong everywhere you go. That’s just how you are.
// Benjamin Alire Sáenz
– What happens to people that love each other?
– I suppose they have whatever they have, and they are more fortunate than others. Then one of them gets the emptiness forever.
Islands In The Stream // Ernest Hemingway
It’s become as natural and right to be alone and silent that I don’t know how I can shift over to company.
// Martha Gellhorn, from a letter to Leonard Bernstein
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
// Anaïs Nin
You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free.
// Thich Nhat Hanh
And it’s too late anyway for me to love, to love love, that is.
// Jack Kerouac