Sincerely October

Dimly lit evenings

A vent chapter with hopeful undertones.

Again and again
I noticed a little bit of my heart aches less each time I tell my story, a small part of myself heals with every word.
I am tired of talking and writing and crying about it, yet here I am, writing about it again.
I tell the story of what happened from every point of view, I tell it from fear and terror, I tell it from the part of me who learned to turn my head and close my eyes, I tell it from the shaking and crying, I tell it from fractured confusion. It's all true, it's all somewhere in my mind.
I still cry about it sometimes. I have learned to live with it in a way that matters but part of me will always hurt, that's just how it is.
The traumatized self lives somewhere else, he holds it all in his shoulders.
When the lines get blurred I tend to box up the memories of shaking and crying the night before, I seem to forget wiping my own tears and holding myself together. That fails to change the events of last night.
I sometimes feel so much fear, but oftentimes the fear has nowhere to go so I become lost. I stare at my ceiling, I cannot think, I couldn't get the words out, the fog settles in. I get the sense that I am waiting for him to open my door and disregard my humanity.
But he's gone now, and day by day I am better.

The forest
I am lost in a fog.
I can't recall my first moment here, I lost count of the days.
Is there an end to the fog? I don't know.
I walk the same paths but I never recognize them. I know I took this one many times before, it's deeply threaded, but this is my first time down it.
I can barely see what's behind me, I feel bark under my hands, I see the green and gray, I feel the gloom of the forest, but I am lost.
I walk in circles, I know this, but I don't.

My soul is nothing if not obsessive
When I lose my passion I wilt like a rose without water.
I am inherently obsessive, I need something that I can't stop thinking about.
I need to talk your ear off, I'll keep telling you about my beloved even when I can tell you'd rather be somewhere else.
My passions are like a camera filter that makes everything a little more colorful, the world is gray without one.