|petrichor ['pe-trÍ-ko(r) or -tri-]
the smell of rain on dry ground.
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Alone By Lack of Self-Trust - Tuesday, Oct. 01, 2013
Yearning for Tears - Sunday, Sept. 29, 2013
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zwischen Sunday, Sept. 29, 2013 - 22:20 mensch
IF ANYONE STILL READS THESE OBSCURE, QUIET THOUGHTS, MY GUESTBOOK HAS FINALLY BEEN FIXED.
Today, I walked in familiar neighborhoods through ghostly memories peppered upon its physical geography. A litany of blowtorched or abandoned bridges with nostalgic regrets surrounding me like gossamer webs. I wondered for the word of dreams of futures that failed to sprout, and some even having failed in being cast upon any soil. I felt like a recovering alcoholic in some stage of the twelve step plan, but where those people I needed to make amends having also cut connections so thoroughly that I know already or can reliably predict wouldn't answer any phone calls, e-mails, or letters by me -- effectively cutting off their universes from ever intersecting with mine again. I walked with a heavy sense of failed living that I have had for most of my existence. I yearned so much for tears, yearned so much for tears. But crying is a rarity for me, a rarity that I cherish so much, relish as being so fortunate for it to happen. My eyes burned to cry, but tears, as always, absent. The heaviness of sorrow, despair, and regret crushing me from within instead. I wondered at how those who've cut off connections to my universe contemplate and perceive me -- if I am ever on their mind anymore. Even now, writing this in reflection, my eyes burn to cry but tears for me flow internally, caught inside, dammed from exiting into the external world.
I have had so many silences struggling, reflecting, sorrowing, despairing, and regretting -- alone and apart -- always alone and apart.
I wish, I wish so much that I could tell these people how much I am wreaked in pain for what I did or did not do and how I treated them or did not treat them. How much they were special and beautiful and meaningful to me. But they have disappeared -- remaining but as ghostly and slowly eroding memories, losing many of the details and particulars, but the raw emotions and sentiments remaining intact.
I wish I could make peace. I wish I could make amends of the hurt and anything else I have inflicted upon them. I wish I could express to them so many things. I wish, I wish, it is all I can do -- that and yearn for tears, yearn for tears.