I’ve decided to go home for some time after everyone leaves. I want to be free of everything, be a child again, sleep until I’m ready, have the nights to myself, walk the shore alone in the cold. I want to eat right and healthy, swim when I feel like swimming, read sad stories until I’m sobbing.
With all of this, I can’t keep from thinking that you have everything and I have nothing. No joy, no love, no soul.
Like he said that day on the phone after I broke his heart, mine is cold. I’m desperately trying to warm it with sentimentality, embracing friendship, living. I don’t often take seriously a person’s angry words, but the truth can’t be denied. My heart is cold. Wanting to feel is not the same as feeling.