If my heart separated into sections, I would cut all of the bad pieces out. I would cut out the hurt, the mistrust, the anger, the hatred. I would cut out the exhaustion, the doubt, the self-misery.
Someday I would like to live peacefully, simply, honestly. I would like to eat what makes me feel good, dress in a way that makes me feel good, live with someone who makes me feel good. Sometimes I think it might be lonely, sometimes I think I’d only have that someone for a few years – animals tend to go a little sooner than humans.
We all want to be rich and live in large houses and be famous. I want to write, and live, and not worry. I don’t care about money, I’ve concluded, though I always knew that. I only want the security.
I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to live off my words, because there are so many determined people out there with words they need attention for. I live to write, attention or no attention. Whoever reads what I have to say tell me that I’ll be famous if I keep trying and if I keep at it. I doubt that, though I’ve learned to keep those words to myself.
I give my words free, to anyone who cares enough to read them. Go figure to be published they need to be “not published” which means not placed in “ink” words where anyone can read them. I guess they lose their value, no matter if I write in my own style all of the time. It’s all about what I put off to the side and submit. I’m no good at keeping my words to myself, and I’m no good and keeping up with trying to submit whatever it is I have. It all seems to lose its meaning when it’s kept alone in the dark.
This is me talking to someone, because this is what I have right now. And it’s okay, because it won’t be that way forever. Positivity and optimism were never strong suits of mine but sometimes I borrow them for a while.