Don’t ask me to give you an answer, because I just don’t have one.
I no longer have a map set out before me.
All of the lines that I once believed to be drawn in ink have been viciously erased with merely taunting traces left behind from the days of old.
I am floating, with a very fine string keeping me somewhat tethered to the ground. I see your looks and hear the words you do not utter as your eyes flash or narrow about me. I know you do not believe me, but I honestly don’t care if you do anymore. Perhaps that is my flaw? I have lost my ability to care about it, because I know that in those rare moments when I allow myself to, the pain returns and it is stronger every time I let it sit for more than a few moments.
I am bitter. And longing. And nostalgic. I miss the places that I have not yet been, the stages that my feet have not yet been introduced to, the people that I have not even met with the names that I do not know. I long to return to the faces that I only met once. To wrap my arms around the frames that stood before me and to never let go. I long to hear my own squeal of excitement that I once abhorred. I desire to laugh, to feel free, to dance and to sing without feeling like even this moment cannot save me.
I am not as I once was before. I am not worse. I am better. But I feel so lost and broken, in almost a new way. I try, again to replace those feelings and occupy myself with something else. Maybe, I’ll find a new dream and a new destiny? But then, the truth seeps out when I least expect it, there is nothing else more perfect for me than the dream I am already chasing after.
It doesn’t do to cry, I wish it helped to laugh, but maybe it will help to see some of my old-self flashing back. I don’t want to be lost, not sure if I’m ready to be found. I just don’t want to feel as though I’m about to drown.
So what do I do? I scream at myself in the mirror. I run, though my legs are far slower than in my mind’s eye, and my breath catches faster than I hoped. I eat less, but the worry turns into hunger and stress, so I seem to always long for more. I dream, and it seems that is all that I have left. I trust in God and tell myself every day that miracles do happen. I put on the fake smile that I once knew so well, and I turn and let the lies slip forth as if there was nothing to it. And I hate myself for it, when I see the rare eyes of care or worry from those that I love the most. But they cannot know, I cannot bear it.
I am angry, and hurt. And disappointed and lost. This place has let me down and I am trapped in its monotone.
So please, I beg of you. Don’t ask me. Just don’t. I don’t know, I can’t care, I won’t feel. Just let it be and trust that my words are the only things keeping me together. Just, please, don’t ask me.