i think i feel

when you are young, you may not have a lot to say, but whatever you do say, you say it with this belief that there is no possibility beyond it. the world starts and ends where you think it should.

and then you grow older and you have far too much to say but there is no conviction in it. you are a piece of dry wood, a plastic bag going whichever way the current–the wind blows.

I think of doing it, but I realize that I don’t really need to. I don’t need to go over every single one of the posts on this blog to know that my words which started out as sharp and bold, have blurred up over the years.

there are a lot less, “I feel…” and a lot more “I think I feel…”

I have written when you are young as if I have already glided into my 50s and not just touched 24.

it’s just that 16 feels like a lifetime ago. I want to be so sure again. so sure of being in love. so sure of being someone.

8 years ago, I wouldn’t have thought so much of a coat of yellow paint on a park bench, but today, it is all I can think of. 2 days ago there was no paint. it was the same bench I grieved on multiple times in the past 2 years, the same bench I viewed the sunset from and hoped to view the sunrise.

today I feel as if that yellow paint has stolen something from me. it has told me not to come back. it wants a fresh start, not weighed down by my grief, my expectations.

when you are young, it is so easy to send out your pain into the world–the only thing you can give. it is the least the world can do–to accept what you give it.

but when you are older, it is not so easy to send something out into the world. it is not so easy to make something, someone, accept what you are giving. your pain is unacceptable, your love is unwanted–who would want love you cannot even hold for yourself?

i guess I could write more, or I could have written less. but there is grief that needs to be shelved, and emails that need to be sent.