I'm sorry I'm not what you expected.
I'm sorry my emotions don't fit with your plans.
I'm sorry I can't make-believe all the time...
I'm sorry I expect too much
I'm sorry my heart can't be tucked away
underneath unpaid bills and ragged movie stubs...
That my corners aren't neat and sweet...
That my font is blurry,
that my ink is low...
Sometimes life is twisty and curvy and filled with dotted lines.
Sometimes my heart is conflicted and bleeding and held together
with scotch tape and coffee breaks.
Sometimes the solution isn't black and white.
When did Life become a freakin Connect-the-Dot puzzle?
And when did it become so hard to remember what number is next?
Do you ever find yourself living a stage of your life
that you know will be a period you repeatedly reflect upon
when your gray hairs outnumber the brown?
Do you ever fear that you will harbor regrets
over chances not taken
and dreams not followed?
Do you ever stare at the silhouettes
cast upon your curtains
and see the faces of those you love?
Do you see them wondering why you wonder?
Why you evaluate and contemplate?
Do you see them wondering why this can't be enough for you?
You know what? I hesitate to post this. I hesitate because I wonder at the response. I hesitate because, though I want this for myself and my own memories, so that I don't forget or sugar-coat different periods in my life, I know that people will think what they want about what I write. And right now? I don't know that I want to hear it. My therapy is my blog. My writing may not be brilliant, unique or even moderately good, but it's MINE. And I need it. And it's REAL.
And so I hit publish.
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