Starting over again at the age of 40 is far from ideal. Most people my age are either settled and content or just as broken as I am. Young people carry little to no baggage. Fun is the objective. I don't really get fun. I am not exactly a fun person. "Would you want to be with you?". I want to be authentic and being that fun guy with the witty retorts and the ready smile don't really align with the weight I carry inside.
I don't really know how to make friends or even how to maintain friendships. In my youth, it was so much easier. There was no double thinking. No second guessing and self doubt. Trust doesn't come easily to me now. I doubt the authenticity of everyone's intentions. Starting with my own. Despite all this, I have been feeling a little bit more optimistic about all things. I have had the feeling that the worst of it has passed.
Then she called.
Does she have some sense of me forgetting her and then she calls?
That cold hand grip on my heart has returned. Lead heavy, I shuffle my feet rather than wasting the effort of lifting. That destination of happiness seems so much more distant and not really worth the effort. I am struggling with one simple concept: how to move on from the only person you have ever loved? How do you stop loving them? How do you take control back over your life?
She has so much power over me, still. If she hurts, then I hurt. If she is happy, well, then, fuck. I guess I should be happy too.
It's all come crashing back. One year ago, the collapse began. Now one year later, I am still at the very beginning of the rebuild. But now that I know, I'm not even sure what to build. Or if I even care.
the sun no longer warms
ice cold finger tip distance
from here to here to here
but never getting anywhere.
So long such cold extremities
an extension of more than just body and form.
Baggage holding down a repressed
and beaten spirit,
floating and tattered rag,
filled by the wind,
to be placed
and forgotten
in an elsewhere universe.
Ever those whispered thoughts
plague ears of no concern,
desiring nothing more simple than silence
a mono tone of endless repetition.
Endless on and on and over again,
till all words are but buzzes and clicks
void and null.
Over.
