Nothing

It hurts. I look desperately for a sliver of hope, some kind of proof that you care, that you realize how badly you fucked up, that you feel bad.

But all I find is more broken promises.

why?

It's 04:47. I keep waking up. I keep waking up but its still true, it has still happened, it keeps being real. I want so bad for it to be a just a nightmare but it keeps being real.

You keep having lied to me. It keeps hurting.

SPRING!

I love spring. I love the drunken feeling of life just bursting from the earth. Everything is singing, shouting with happiness. Winter is gone, SPRING IS HERE. Flowers and leaves and grass all sing. Birds sing. The earth sings drunkenly, in love.

I get this feeling when I ride my bike at night, this feeling of floating, a magical feeling with loud music in my ears and stillness all around me. No people. no traffic. Just this song from the earth, the air is thick with it. Like when you fly in a dream, you just focus every fiber of your being into this magical act, this one amazing leap off of the ground and you FLY.

In my dreams I flap my arms when I fly.

At night, on my bike, it's that same feeling. Surreal and powerful.

Spring is here. Life is bearable. Sometimes. At night, riding my bike through the darkness. If I was happy I would be very happy right now.

My boyfriends are both being nice. My friends want to hang out with me. The future doesn't feel like a wet wool blanket wrapping itself around me, covering my face, cold, wet, heavy, so heavy. The future might be okay.

Life is bearable. The night sings. I can breathe.

Yum

I love sandwiches! I could live on sandwiches alone.

Better better better

I realized yesterday that I haven't cried as much since I moved to my new home as I used to. I still have bad days but the soul crushing blackness is gone.

I was so sad when I lived with him. He made me so miserable. He might have stolen my sewing machine and my underwear and a skein of marks & kattens "Madrid" and all my photos but at least I'm free from the horrible darkness of living with a psycho. At least I'm not constantly worried about his mood. If he's going to explode over some meaningless little thing.

He's a little bit like my ex only more evil and less attractive (and my ex was not very attractive). Come to think of it my ex, the compulsive liar, seems pretty nice in comparison. So there's that. At least I wasn't in a relationship with this one. Hah.

I realize daily things that I miss. A shawl I knitted. Things I made when I was a blacksmith. The last ball of the yarn I needed to finish a project. But the feeling of lightness that comes from not living with him anymore makes it easier to bear.

Small people

Will never make me as small as they are. I won't sink to the level of threats, violence and lies. And that makes me feel good. Because I know that whatever happens I can be proud of my actions. I can tell the truth without shame.