Elusive Grace

[greenstorm]

I'm reaching for words.

The wheel always turns.

All these things I wrote years ago are true: http://greenstorm.livejournal.com/699961.html

It is still true that I have no good definition for love. It's still true that everyone is so different. It's true that I'm so numb and torn up that I'm not sure what I feel.

I see people, I don't see people, I spend quality time with myself, I burn useless time with myself, I achieve goals, I ignore goals and they float by, I impress people, I disappoint them, I do good things, I do bad things, I do useful things, I sleep lots, I don't sleep enough. None of this helps me.

It's not my springtime yet. Winter should be a time for resting and regathering resources, readying for the energy and growth of a season ahead. It's for feeding a little life, With dried tubers. I don't have enough resources right now to burst into bloom.

I can smell my wine and plan projects. That feels good.

I can clean my house. That feels accomplished. It makes me more comfortable.

I can have conversations. They leave me satisfied or achingly lonely. Likewise sex, though it can be both at once.

I can't love people much. I'm afraid, and there's a roaring in my ears. I'd rather not be afraid. It will happen anyhow, won't it? And everything will eventually be ok, in the end.

The end is just very far away.

Comments

[donnaidh-sidhe.livejournal.com]

The funny thing about being human is the way the intensity of our feelings is stripped away from us as days go by. (I suppose we'd have died out long ago if not for the fact that women still want to have sex after experiencing childbirth...)

But time doesn't really seem to heal all emotional wounds. It just makes you forget how much they hurt, once. Or it makes you realize how little the then matters now.