Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Upon my thirtieth year

I had the sense tonight that I my life is no longer leading to anything. I'm not building toward some distant manifestation. I've arrived. And my worries are very much the same as they have always been.
This year has been hard, lumped in with some other lousy ones (21 stands out). It began with a sushi birthday dinner, and ended with another one. In between I've lost love, and maybe hope too. I'm not sure who I feel promised me, but I feel betrayed in the promise that if I just kept at it, loved boldly and honestly, that I would be rewarded with happiness. I've worked hard, and I'm stronger against the hurricane winds, not so easily blown over. But my question is, why is there still a fucking hurricane out there? It's unnatural the things that have been ripped from me.
I also have a sense that my hope is insipid. That as soon as I desire something, I begin to destroy it, that I pluck the flower and it is only a matter of time before it dies. I literally fear saying what I want out loud because I will curse it.
It's not a matter of what I deserve or am worth. Those parts of me are intact. But nighttime continues to haunt me, and I am surprised how many nights I've survived when I thought surely the pain would crush me.
I'm not always sad. But this year I am.

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