greenstorm | Two Sizes Too Small (Reply)

Some nights I'm not sure I have a heart anymore. It's been broken so many times, mended with whatever I could find to hand (and though that was a lot, it was never right) that a lot of that part of me's just gone numb. My friends are scattered to the four winds (those four winds being physical location, busyness/attention, divergent growth, and personal crises). We're all wrapped up in our own lives, and I'm too far into my shell to be casually intimate.

I knew this would happen. I looked forward and saw it: one day my life would be too full of history and too rich in present detail, I would be too complicated, for anyone to share it particularly fully. Now here I am. There's too much history for anyone to share and understand: any little comment, my ex this or my garden that, each one is a tiny little signifier of a wealth of subterranean memory and meaning and experience that it would take years to unearth.

I don't know what to do with me. I've made my life into a machine: my work and hobbies drive me, they motivate me, I adore my boyfriend and all of these things truly do inspire me and make me passionate and push me forward. Why, then, am I so lonely?

Because I am _so_ lonely. And when I reach inside myself to feel what's there, no warmth rises up to meet me. Excitement, happiness, yes, all those things are there-- but the heart is cold.