certain words in uncertain times

I write.

Not because I want people to read.

And not because I have important things to say.

I write because I feel things.

Maybe it's more symbolic than anything. But if I wrote in tiny letters in my green book that's all they would ever be– tiny letters. At least if I have the option to publish this I can be sure that I'm part of something bigger, and maybe even something worth being a part of.

Shhhhh. Don't let on. But sometimes there are just so many words, words. And even if, when placed end to end, the words don't make sense together, at least they were spoken so they can be heard. At least they were written so they can be read. If we never tried, they would never have the option of going on forever and ever.

Sometimes it's easier to deal in the abstract than in the concrete.

The abstract doesn't make me cry.

I have been doing a lot of that over the last couple days. I think if I was crying for me, it would be that much easier to talk myself out of it. But it's the names, the faces, the lives that I know about and read about and hurt for that I can't fix.

I hate brokenness.

I hate apathy.

I hate emotions.

The ones that are deep inside you that you can't even use a colour to describe because it's black, it's all black and dirty and the only way to get rid of it is to cry and make it hurt somewhere else. Or to let it go.

I can't let it go.

If I let go it feels like I don't care anymore. If it's no longer hurting inside it's like it never mattered or I've given up. Does it feel any different when you've let go because you've released it into greater hands? Is it supposed to feel empty and flat or empty and renewed?

I don't know what it means to move on. One of the hardest things about being alive is finding the motivation to do it. Sometimes there are things that make me excited about life. But thoughts and moments are not enough to survive a whole lifetime on.

You know what I want more than anything right now? I want to be up high. High in a plane or on top of a mountain or anywhere that is up high enough for me to look down and see how tiny the world is. The little houses, the little cars and all the lights, blinking moving and always in a hurry to be there and to get it done. Always. So I want to be far away from it to get the proper perspective of how small it really is. I get people sick. If I was honest, I have those moments where it's much too difficult to be around people because I don't want to feel what they feel and I get so tired of trying to make it right when I know I can't.

But from far away you can't see those things. You can't see the colours of how people feel or what they do about it. It's just small and manageable and maybe even under control. I don't want to stand in the middle of it; I don't want the houses to be life size and I don't want to be small enough to fit inside the cars. Because within the four walls, amidst the joy and laughter, is always more hurt and anger and sorrow than people know what to do with. And the destinations that those cars map out for themselves are long lonely drives to temporal reality.

Please be real. Real enough to make it stop hurting, even if it's not going to go away. But maybe if there was enough truth and honesty the words would stop being so abstract and the feelings would disappear. Names. Faces. Lives. It doesn't work to be goal-oriented when there's nothing to be done.

Fix it. I know you can do it.