You'll ask me how I am. I'll tell you I'm doing fine. And, I am. I really am doing fine, even though deep inside I hurt, I'm still doing fine. We all hurt. Why should I dramatize my petty problems and make my life seem horrible? There are some small things. But I don't really like talking about it. I don't like talking to anyone but my journal, whose pages accept is so well. In the solitude and serenity, they accept is so well. They just listen and never reprimand me for my words. Things that are close to my heart stay there.
I guess I'm just going to let everything pile up, and not be resolved. Either it will burn slowly or pile up and explode all at once. I like that analogy. It's morbidly beautiful. If that's an oxy-moron, then I'm in the wrong. But I'll hold fast that something can be morbidly beautiful. I'm sick of conflict and supposed resolution.
Have you ever been afraid to ask a question because you didn't want to hear lies, and even if they weren't lies, you wouldn't want to know the truth anyway? So, either way you lose. But it's better that way. Better to lose and blow it off then to burn from every conflict. I suppose I need to accept imperfect relationships and realize that's what life is all about: imperfect relationships.
~Sarah
