Bloodflood

In the deepest concentration that should be reserved for studies I sit in my chair, contemplating. Contemplating things I don't even dare to put out in the open. Because maybe these things hold the potential to hurt someone and that is too much power to give feverish words uttered in a moment that could very well be foolish and delirious. It's been awhile since I've felt this way and I miss it. I miss the fumbling with my emotions, the brutality of uninhibited outpouring of feelings and the overall misanthropic tendencies I fall into ever so often. It's always been me and it still can be me, I decide. Finding love and being loved doesn't spare you from the opposite, directed at yourself or others. I should think my self-loathing capabilities are still intact. The old fear of inadequacy that rips the breath out of me still visits me in the night. I know what I should be doing but it's hard to carry out obligations when your heart is so heavy from the things unsaid and the actions that cannot be reversed. Forgive me but perhaps I forgot to mention how needy I am capable of becoming and the minute I sense the slipping into this other persona, I leave. This is my way of sparing us the emotional turmoil that will only leave us reeling, and possibly plant tiny seeds of resentment that will only gestate into anger and irritation and the worst - apathy.

This time tomorrow I just want to be able to prove all of this literature wrong .