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Thursday, July 14, 2011

Thursday, Hurtsday.

There are those moments in life when, one particularly gray Thursday afternoon, you'll step into the shower and cry.

Loss is a word that should be illegal for a dictionary, or any person to find synonyms for. After all, it's not something any word can describe. I even believe it's just called loss so people would have an easier time expressing how they feel.

It's annoying how life hits us sometimes. One day, you feel like you're on top of the world, like a kid on the longest slide, enjoying the air in your face, not realizing that sooner or later, it will be over. And then there's reality, right at the very mouth of that slide, waiting to swallow you whole. You won't even have time to scream.

Loss. Longing. Is there a difference? Is one wound deeper, more painful than the other? Loss, I think, pertains to something you once had. Longing, on the other hand, is wishing you've had that very thing, which then brings you to experience loss.

Sometimes, I want to pinch and peel at the scabs of my wounds, just to see if my skin is healing itself underneath. Sometimes, it's already whole again. Most of the time, I'm left bleeding for the same reasons.

My tears feel prickly in my eyes. I wonder, if I jab at my stomach hard enough, if the words I can't say will spill out of my mouth, just like the most previous meal does when I feel like I don't deserve it. Just like it does when I remember that feeling of elation, so heavenly, like there's a star caught in my throat. It used to feel like walking barefoot on grass---falling in love did. I wonder if it still feels like that now. I wonder if butterflies will still lurch in my stomach when someone else regards me as no less than beautiful, like they do now when I think of the last time. I wonder why, after everything that's been said and done, I'm still here, waiting. Like a best friend perched on the front porch steps of the guy she's loved all her life, waiting for him to crawl back to her arms, if only for a little while. I wonder if one day, I will just wake up and tell myself that it's over...that it has been over, all this time.

It's like slipping on a puddle of black tar on the floor, and holding on to a live wire for dear life. Both hurt, one more dangerous than the other, but you hold on to it anyway.

Why?

Because no matter how hard you try to talk some sense into yourself...

No matter what your mind says...

You know. Your heart knows. It's the only thing that keeps you standing.

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