Intensity

I feel like I have neglected this for a time. So much has happened since this, so much so that I almost feel like the self of even yesterday is unfamiliar.

I can't describe my emotions. I felt this deepness, this bliss that I have not known for years, if ever. This intensity, this passion...I shudder to classify it. I've been totally open, and I've listened, I've grown...

Never in my whole life have I been so honest with my emotions, with my intentions. Never have I acted like suffering in life is something far, distant. At first I hesitated. Is beauty, is feeling, is passion available...to me? For once I decided that the answer didn't matter. What mattered was the attempt, the seeking, the grasping...

And I felt this peace, this lovely sensibility, this joy...

And the way events were transpiring, I felt I was only closer to more, as if I was reaching for something and I would feel it.

Water she truly is. She is slipping from me, and I am drowning..

Oh I can be so dramatic. I know it. I see myself write this and I know it. But I feel it.

I've always been proud of my achievements. But I feel now as if they are meaningless. Forgettable. I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn't feel like the very force which kept me afloat is pushing me down. I feel like crying. The rain was almost too appropriate.

Then I start to wonder, now, broken as I am, I suppose thoughts such as these will pass through me. Why? I began listening to music I knew was going to end, but the beauty of the sound so captured me that I couldn't leave it if I wanted to. The suffering from the absence of the sound is much worse than the suffering caused by its end.

If you knew that, if you knew coming into this it would someday be difficult, and now you decide to end this...Then I don't know how to feel. I don't know how to judge the cruelty of that action. But if you knew, and it didn't bother you before, why does it now? What sweet word, what music, what action, what will make you understand and go back?

Is it indeed true that the candle burns brightest before it goes out? It was just last night that I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by it all. And not even a day later I fall apart, miserably, and totally.

I kept jokingly telling myself all the things in my life were too good to be true. I said I'd probably get sick, or hit by a car. At this point, I'd rather the latter.

I felt I was ready. I felt that despite the agony of leaving, I felt that I could have gone on. I'm filled now with uncertainty. Uncertainty.

Emptiness.

I don't even want to talk about it. I don't want to. I'm just a child.

Lat night I felt the pain and pleasure of writing, I was up late working on poetry. I suppose now in the state I'm in, poetry will bleed from me the way sap does from a tree, and encase me in a chrysalis of fear, insecurity, agony, defeat, loneliness, grief...