so for some odd reason i had lost touch with journaling. i guess because i had lost touch with myself. i lived in fantasy. i clung to what i wrote, these characters i delved into because my own life was … well, tragic. i was numb. i numbed myself to the point i was blissfully unaware of what i had been missing. those aches, those voids, they were ebbed with fantasy. disquiet became nothing but static. i was so comfortable there - my soul slowly rotting in the marble mausoleum, entwining in cobwebs & dust, grown derelict. perhaps that’s why i connected with those homes that fell into disrepair, properties decrepit, a tomb of what had been, of memory & nothing more. it was all so gray, muddled & lifeless.
now, it’s as if colour has spilled forth to stain all that i had grown accustomed to. i feel longing again. i feel fear - it seeps to the depths of my marrow with the adoration i feel for this man. my hands often tremble. strange as it sounds perhaps my heart too has grown beyond the stone, iron & ice i once imprisoned it within. it’s beating, shuddering, skipping. i feel alive. it was the twinges of those aches i numbed so perfectly that drove me to seek companionship again. now that i’ve finally found it, i’m terrified. i know that if any wound is inflicted, that numbness will become my home again. it was where i was safe. can he tell ? can he see it in my eyes ? does he know that beyond those cracked, aging walls, layers & layers of thorned vines that an oasis thrives, a garden brimming with violet roses ? i wonder … all i can do is wonder & conquer my worry, conquer my fear. overcome it all to live … & maybe even love.