Impending Doom

The thing is… I know how this is going to end. I’m going to be heartbroken again; I’m going to check my phone every five minutes to find nothing from you there. We’re going to go months without talking, during which time I will think about everything that I would have done differently – everything that I would have said if I had known.

I’ll think about all of the things that I found out after; I’ll find out the things that you  should have told me yourself. And people tell me that I should hate you, that I shouldn’t care whether you talk to me or not… But I do.

I care, and I don’t stop caring.

Then, just like this time, it’ll start again, and I’ll be happy. I’ll think that maybe this time will be different… Will it?

I Don’t Have Life Figured Out Yet

There are a lot of things in this life that I know. First and foremost I know that there is a God, and He is on my side. I know how to differentiate between sine and cosine; I can recite poems of Emily Dickinson from memory; I can tell you hundreds of facts from World War 2. I can tell you my honest opinion without bias.

But there are some things that I just don’t know. Where did we go wrong? What happened to making things work? Me writing you? You say you’re busy, and that’s fine, but did you really go from talking to me everyday to not having time to type me a few messages?

I think you gave up. You stopped wanting it because it was to big of a challenge; you were scared, and I was, too, because who knows what the future will bring?

I wish I could fix it- but here’s another thing I know: I can’t fix anything that involves another person that doesn’t want it to be fixed.

So, maybe… I do have life figured out. Or at least that part.

In all actuality, I don’t blame you. I never have, never will. Like I said earlier, the future? That’s scary. Graduating is scary. Going to college or the Army is scary. I can’t blame you for how you’re handling it.

But for a few weeks, I thought we could do it. Just so you know.

A Poem for the Empathetic Soul

I live in a human body,
And what I feel is not fair.
When you hurt,
I hurt.
When you cry,
I cry.
And I don’t even know you.

My empathy is a blessing.
My empathy is a curse.
I love it,
I hate it.
It makes me who I am.

I feel so many things,
And I can’t do anything about them.
I can’t mend his heart,
I can’t heal her mind.
I’m helpless to the hopeless.
I’m a companion to the lost.

If I could change the world,
I would make no one suffer.
I would make no one cry.
I would heal the body
And the brain.

Alas,
I live in a human body,
And what I feel is not fair.
When you hurt,
I hurt.
When you cry,
I cry.
It is who I am.

In the Desert

I’m tired of the leaving.
Everyone leaves.
You were supposed to stay.
You were my constant,
Always there.
Then you left.
You decided I wasn’t enough.
Just like everyone else.
Now I’m grabbing for memories,
Laughs,
Smiles.
They’ll fade over time.
But I’ve learned a lot
About myself,
And my feelings for you are forever.
I’m sorry.
I’m stranded.
I’m stuck.
I’m you-less.
And I’m sorry.

Rediscovering Old Writing

Feelings are tough. They’ll tell you when you’re lost, sad, or elated. But what we really notice is when they make us feel like a nail drawn to a magnet. And that magnet is normally another human being. Then sometimes that person doesn’t feel the same, or maybe they’re just shy like you are. It’s a confusing time, for sure, but one thing’s certain:
You want to be around them, talk to them, think of them, day dream about them every second of every day.

In my life, I have written more than I can keep up with. That includes little paragraphs here and there that get lost forever in the whim. Today I came across the paragraph above, and I realized that this is still very relevant to myself today. Whatever I was going through back then, I’m going through again.

While it’s sad to me that I’m back in this place, and I’m finding that the past does repeat itself, I also find this fact every important: I survived it back then, and I can survive it again.