Not Much Left Unsaid
Previous - this entry written on June 04, 2004 at 10:50 pm - Next

There's a public diary devoted to unsent letters. I'm sure you've all found it one way or another, heard about it, read through it, maybe even posted in it. It's a place where you can say what you've always wanted to say, write that last letter, find words for the feelings you wouldn't ever dare really SHOW.

I haven't written anything there for a long time. I used to, writing notes to my past, to people who wouldn't ever see them, ever know they were there. Even in that journal, they stayed unsigned. No true betraying marks, on most of them. Nothing to give strangers, or even the subjects of the letters, a clue as to who I was or why I was writing. Just words spilled out, spilled over, because I couldn't hold them in any more.

I think I've gotten better at holding things in, over the years. I don't... I don't display as much. I'm not posturing for the crowd as often. I've been focused on me.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, but it's where I am right now, right this second. I'm aware of all the physical aches and pains. I'm aware of the emotions I am tangled in, the cords of love and friendship and anger and a thousand other things that bind me to those around me. I'm aware of what few memories are still fresh as the day they came into being.

I'm aware of myself, and that leaves me wondering... am I really aware of other people? I'm afraid that I've been slipping away, losing my friends and my loves in the everyday effort of survival, boredom and impatience sending me far afield, looking for some new fix, some new high.

I view my boys as a drug of sorts... I am addicted to them, I can't function properly without them, I can't stop thinking about them and wishing for more - more of their time, more of their presence, having them HERE instead of communicating with bits of typed-up text and crackling voices passed through wires. Some days it's not so bad, I live and laugh and it's ok. Some days...

...some nights...

...some nights, just thinking about how far away they are makes me cry, wrapped up in a pile of blankets, holding myself since I can't hold them, tears getting my nose, my cheeks, the blanket, damp and salty.

I miss them so much it hurts.

If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will

If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing

If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well

And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will

If it be your will

Moodiness, I guess. I... I still don't have the right words. I miss my boys.

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