Posts tagged ‘sadness’

September 4, 2012

How long does it last

Tonight I’m just wondering how long I will last with the writing. I would love if it lasted forever, but…….. it never seems to. (sigh) At some point the words always leave me. I would love to say its like a bad relationship that you just never want to end, but it’s not. No matter how hard I try the words just fade leaving black, black darkness.

Words or thoughts are very much like a part of our soul. Gripping our hearts. Filling our minds. Words are what makes us unique. Just imagine a person and the words that circle them like a tornado. What words would you see? Now imagine those words are gone and all that is left is a hallow body. That’s how I feel when I can’t find my words.

Write about anything. I could write about the old coffee pot, the torn rug, the family pictures on the wall but it just words describing nothing of relevant value to me. It makes no sense in my mind. Means nothing.

The world is expressed by raw emotion: happiness, sadness, despair, laughter, honesty, lies. It where my mind focuses. It’s who we are when you strip us of monetary possession. Who we are without all that we have? One would think we might be equals. We are not. Our minds separate us. Our thoughts make us different. Today I am happy while you are sad, different.

Who we are is a great factor in what we write. In fact writing is a factor in who we are as some people prefer not to write at all. Those who do not write leave no mark other than their actions which fade in time. Those who write leave behind a legacy of words to be understood and interpreted by all who cross there path.

No matter how I try the words always leave me. I want to say this time it will be different but it may not be. I want to say that I will try harder, but I won’t, because as humans we don’t. We accept many things about ourselves with no desire to change.

When I write I feel a sadness like no other, though I am happy with unlimited contentment. When I write I feel passion soaring from my soul. Then I crash, and nothing. There is nothing left.

May 5, 2011

Anna

I have always written. I suppose when I was younger I wrote as a way to make sense of my life. A way to cope with my youth. When I was sad I wrote about sad things and when I was happy I wrote happy thoughts. it seemed straight forward. I don’t i ever really put much thought into it. I did it because it was something that freed my mind and potentially got rid of emotions that would have been otherwise bottled up.

The is a time of year that comes when summer is ending and the skies are turning gray that i feel a sense of sadness, a longing for something. I look for answers, for meaning. There must be something there my eyes just can’t focus on. I long for purpose. i want to understand. It is also in this moment my mind feels clear, renewed, fresh. This is my favorite time of year and it never last long enough. There is a part of me that wants to keep these feeling with me always, and a part that is relieved it is gone. It drains me. Its everything and nothing. Its all encompassing and all letting go.

I have written so much; so many words have left my pen. So many thoughts have crossed my path. Each one making me who i am now. The influences have shown through, memories have taken there proper place, emotions danced in costumes larger than life across the landscape.  Every word, every thought, every moment. Its all gone

I knew that when i moved 7 years ago from my tiny duplex in to my home i threw away everything in my garage. I didn’t open the boxes. There were lots. Books from college, papers i had written, journals i had kept. All of it gone. It was a conscience decision.  The feeling of purging the past and starting new, fresh, clean. I didn’t think twice then about letting all of it go. I don’t miss it. I don’t want it back.

There was a story. I have only written a few stories. There was one though about Anna. She was beautiful. Over the years I have seen her face, her longing, her emotions. I see her so clearly. I have kept her close. The story was short and I don’t remember the lines. She sat in the most comfortable chair, worn over the years. Laughter, happiness sorrow, they all rested with her.  A blanket nesseled by her side. Woven by her hands brought comfort. She waited, not a moment went by. The silence embraced her. There was a window, tattered curtains, that looked to the fields surrounding her tiny home. With that she is gone. The words missing.

If I had kept one thing. A story, an impression, a thought, a feeling that encompasses everything. Anna’s story would be the one. I have her with me now, though only a memory.