The Cycle Goes Up And Down

Having now realized just how much I am willing to trust Chris despite the jealousies and pains I still hold I come into a new sense of emptiness.

Perhaps it's because I've scraped clean the insides of my innermost chambers in order that I make him see that he's inflicting pain.
Perhaps it's because I need someone to know who won't think I'm crazy.
Perhaps it's because I ought to be committed and I'm looking for someone who will send me on my merry way to a small room where I can sit and ponder why I didn't ask my mum to cook me breakfast more often.

These are the rolling and colliding questions which make me willing to lie to myself.
I am deceived by the confidence of a fast-paced day.
The smooth rhetoric of a happily encouraged friend or colleague.
The clever smile of a lover in my future as he glances at the time to make it look as if he has some reason to stop looking at me other than sheer embarrassment at his inability to tear away his attentions.

Having come to a very firm place of decision a short while back about my intentions to seek a deeper and more meaningful understanding of myself I am constantly battling the distractions of poorly formed old habits and trial-ridden new tradition.

It's like there's some sort of cutoff between my hope and my reality and yet the two operate so effortlessly synonymously when I merely close my eyes.

I have to keep listening.
I have to keep wanting to love.

The moment I stop wanting it is the moment I begin to glance longingly at the bladed edge of a wine key next to a half-empty bottle of blood-red Cabernet Sauvignon.