I am entirely too good at pretending for my own good. I can fake bravery like you would not believe. It's really only second to my pseudo-strength.
I can make nothing out of something.
I can grip the slightest hope and turn it into something
and Lord, am I holding on.
Just give me something to hold on to. I'll take it.
I'm running loose and running on E.
Escaping this town and the country has never looked so good.
I miss Ohio. I miss contentment. I miss goals and passion and living on the edge.
I miss the cures you offered. I miss the way you healed me.
My heart is full of hurt. (love?)
My head is full of questions. Answers. Risks.
I keep playing the what ifs. What if I had went with him instead of you? Or we had worked it out? Or we had never even met?
The real questions are, where to now? and how? and when? and with whom?
Are you going with me? Or am I expected to go this alone. (nothing new. most big things have been all on me.)
For now, I read my books. I remember. I sing. I try. I get by.
I hurt. I think. I love.
I search. Your face. For the answers you can't give. You won't give.
Tell me you're hurting. Or that I mattered.
Tell me your fears. I'll turn them into something beautiful.
Maybe I should move on. Chalk it up to a good learning experience.
Perhaps something better is around the corner.
I'm not ready to turn the corner yet.
Grant me patience and understanding.
Listening to: "A Cannon" by Regina Spektor, "Come When I Call" by John Mayer, "Landlocked Blues" by Bright Eyes, "Dakota" by A Rocket To The Moon, "Clark Gable" by The Postal Service, and not what others tell me.
Waiting, Ana.
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