I have the increasing suspicion that I am in utter disrepair. No, that doesn’t even make sense…I Haven’t the slightest idea why I am here, there is no mode of expression, or condescending verse in which I was truly inspired by. I am restless, I cannot sleep. I feel the dear panging constantly, at the lives of others, and which I can do nothing about. It is not for me to do anything. But yet, still, I cannot sleep.

I spoke, how do I say this, I spoke of this feeling, of which I can hardly describe. It is something deep inside of me, that I have always yearned to be free of, of this, I had thought it would be rid, as soon as something occurred. Perhaps this is why, as I spoke, I said, that I feel as if I have always been waiting. I do not have my own direction. This is not completely true, I find my direction. There have been so many plans,
There is a lovely woman of which, I was blessed enough to know, possibly even blessed enough to be loved by. This woman was 92 years old. I think of this now, she has watched an untold number of movies. It was a strange thought, to compare myself with such a different story as mine. But I think of her often in these days. My mind wanders, and I cannot believe, oh my goodness, that I have been so awfully blind. I have felt this insatiable need…but there is nothing in this, no truth, no consistent suffering will end this desire. There is no constant.
There was a movie in which the mother died, one or two or several of these, are movies that we watch, every so often, as is our custom, my daughter, the second oldest, she will cry and be completely without consonance. I hold her, and tell her pretend stories of other screen plays or perhaps books that I owned at one time or another that tell the real life ‘authentic’ story of this, which ever is the production at the moment, event, in which watching this thing, tragic and unbearable thing, that has brought her to tears, ends. I tell her of the end of ice age, where the mother meets them at the bottom of the pass. There are several other stories, lies yes, that I have told in order to stop the tremendous number of tears, that are genuine and never ending, had the lies not been told. My oldest daughter asked me, just tonight, she asked me, what would happen if I died. I had never thought to ask my parents, but I do remember the fear. I would wake up every morning with my father, perhaps 4 in the morning. And then return to bed with my mother. If I did not say that I loved them before they left, I would be left with a knot in my stomach that would not go away. It was a disgusting feeling. I have put these fears into my children, or allowed them to be placed there. Or allowed them the opportunity to form the concept. I sit here, at two thirty in the morning, and worry about dying alone. I will for certain, this is a sickening habit that I have formed, where I pour my guts out in front of a screen, begging for the attention of someone that will never be able to give it. There is no death at the end of my story. Not yet, I will not allow it. I will not sit in misery while I eat alone, or watch an untold number of movies alone. Alone is a very good place, where I love myself, and can be noone but myself. My children love every single thing in me. There is no bad, or judgmental topic, or dorky dance. Or horrible note of which I scream the wrong words to their favorite song, which they despise. There is not a time when they are frustrated without any hesitation and beat me until my guts fall to pieces. I am done with all of this, there will be no further seeking or endless trauma of which I cannot recover.

I have this song, I made it up sometime during my childhood, although I do not recall the year, or how old I was, it went like this…I love my cousins, even though they are mean to me sometimes. This very endearing song, whether or not you think so, was a remarkable one, and completely heartfelt, and has been the source of many wonderful outbursts and giggles. It had a tune, although I might have to practice again to get the correct rhythm. if only there were away I could impart these lovely things to my children. Things like grannychicksprinkle, and the wonders of pillow people, I always wanted one, what was her name, window rattler, and how wonderful the hug of a dirty doll was. The lawn at 8842 holds secrets too of stripped ferns, and battered snails the infamous trap door, and of course the special area in which we polished magnolia leaves with our bike tires. What did we call the red things, they were something special only came at a certain time of year. We had curbs that were perfect for coasting, we had a secret garden which was a mini and less magical version of the one housed at atlantis park. Only it burned down in fourth grade, as I was forced to watch the hidden oasis from the blacktop. The term skate gracefully will be forever engrained in the mind as something completely embarrassing and only a select few will ever be honored to full understand the phrase. Thinking about it, enough said. Creating the most delicious mozzarella, regardless of how grainy the dirt or the ratio of water to dirt, which of course created the mozzarella, and we were never deterred by the fact that we did not know what mozzarella was. Having and believing in the bionic three was a power we could create with our id bracelets…and the more grand hidden passageways at dodger stadium followed by phillipes. The stockings always became itchy on the ride home…

i am writing not to complain, or scream of some ill begotten curse of which i can attest, only for the purpose of purging this…i am currently perplexed to the point of no end…and need to get this out before it dissolves before me once more, and i am left wondering at the nagging sensation which will not leave me be.
i have a void, own a void, i leave it alone and in what seems like forever it is almost gone. and it seems to go away, though i mean for it to leave all together, it does not go along with the curses. it is as if the ability to mend myself has gone from my very soul. i do not remember feeling so wasted. it is not as if i do not feel happiness. i do, so much so, this very life that i lead makes it impossible to be so very wasted, it does not leave me time to drown in any sort of sorrows, least of all my own. i am left with the inexplicable task of mending myself without warrant, honor, or vigilance. for it is quite possible that i no longer deserve to be mended. perhaps the last time was the very last time that i was to be whole, and i gave it away so suddenly that it might not be able to return. what am i speaking of, i hardly know.
i…cannot see any sort of release or time of which might allow me to be weak. i need this. i need to be weak. i yearn for this, and it leaves me feeling foolish and slight.
you saw a glimpse into my life, and i am not all the better for it. i am left shallow and haunted once again.
i do not mean to attest that i am left this hollow shell, i am not, most of my soul is rather plump. the hours and days are filled with the most beautiful laughter that i am not at all given the time to be miserable as often as i would like. It arises now, only on occasion, and leaves to quickly to be contemplated further, it's outline is so very clear when it is time to consider it again, and however small the sliver, it will not stand too long without being acknowledged before it seeps into the rest of me. maybe it has always been there, but i have been much too busy with other things than to stop and ever examine myself. i was told once, how was it said, that my touch, felt like i had yearned for it my entire life. i am not quoting, perhaps stating it in the way i would like it to have meant. this person might have been the only one that ever noticed this slight piece of me. that feeling has never gone away. was it a promise, i do not know, but somewhere someone put it into my heart that i was to be loved until the end of my days…it is fleeting and in concise.

deer prinses jeena and uncl nic cen you giis come rvr at my haws and play wihc my famu and reey rembr to sawnd awt the wrdst and love skai.

i spoke to a man today (if you ever read this, i am sorry for discussing what is not mine to tell, but it felt so tragic a thing to not) he reminded me of tents made of trampolines and blankets, all mismatched chairs, and I had forgotten. i did not know his voice, it was not the same those ten or more years ago. and when i knew him he was a boy, secretly my first kiss. the only person that ive ever met with such a name, still to this day. i asked of the family that i once knew, almost as much as my own. his father died some five years ago. he died. those days, in those days, a quarter and the sight of a baby chick were all that made one happy. the corner feed store, is it still there, and a lost and forgotten city that most of the world does not know to exist. do you remember the dalmation puppies, i had begged for one to no avail. i spoke to him some few minutes before my father came to my door. it was very strange, he gave me a half hug, with a strange irregular tapping, which istrongly ridiculed, and then forced him to give me a real hug. i love that he has to bend to hug my properly. always did. how many times has he held me until ive felt whole since i was born. i love my father, and i have been such a rotten daughter. then later i read a passage from a store bought cutout, and it read, "never be the first one to let go" i have always felt this, but never placed words to the feeling. when he left, i watched him leave, as is our custom, until he is no longer in my sight. i wonder how many times i have left at this tradition. we had dinner together, how strange an idea after all that has happened between us, after so many years, she was just eighty when we met, and we are here, yakimmandu and all, but she does not sit with us, when i saw her, i could barely contain myself, and i know it is evil guilt that disturbes me, i knew that she called after me and i never came. she knows my face, and i am again content with guilt that i am allowed this time to see her again, i sat in a hospital, and heard family, what once was my family, speak of a dear woman, she now numbers ninety-two, but i do not think it long enough. they asked after black suits, and cried for sorry, and i am determined never to repeat such a horrid thing as this. she is breathing, if you can call it that, and i know that my daughters father will die again when it is all over. i am scared, for it is just recently that he came back from the dead. he does not hear my words, i tell him that she needs him to live, she needs to see all that he is, all that he came be, i give up, he once told me that he had specifically learnt how to drown out my voice, and he could hear everything else...everything except for my voice. this time, i do not cry to let him know that i love him. he sleeps, and i think that he forgets that we are not together. he looks at me in the way that used to be our custom. i wonder what he is dreaming of. i cannot feel right, and i realize in this moment, that the part of my heart, the whole part that loved him completely, is gone. i leave him alone. and he then eats the green mound of sugar frosting, that my second daughter calls a gum drop off of a cupcake that she made. i hope they will help keep him sane. my word document believes that i spelt that word wrong. sane. it is all that i can hope for him at the moment. i just heard araiya call him daddy, i wonder at the insanity that i have already caused my children. do not think me retched, because the world was never supposed to be this way, this was never supposed to be…i am not strong enough for any of this, my spirit falls, to all things selfish. i forget my earlier promise, and i absorb too much sir...

There are people…sometimes. I think. How very lucky I am. They are not meant to be there forever. Truly remarkable souls that touch your life. They know you. Not all inconsequential things as …But they know your soul & they blessed you enough to inspire you for the rest of your life. They know your smile and can cry for your pain. They bless you and wish your darling beautiful children happiness. And you know this comes from the most intimate expression of their heart…and again you know that you are blessed. You see they will never belong to you. But they will always love your soul. They will always see inside of you. Even without saying I love you. This will never leave. They tell you that you are a romantic realist, and you think what a lovely notion it would be to actually believe this true in yourself. They tell you that you have made your life art, and you know he will always love you, if not yours, at least your soul.