The Open Wound or the Place Where the Light's Supposed to Hit

So, here I am again. Once more, breaking open the jar wondering what scent will emerge, tickle my nostrils, evaporate into the ether of my being - if any.

It's about standing in truth, correct? It's not about looking good, it's about being real, right? Man, that shit's damn hard and doesn't get easier no matter the times I've tried to be just me, naked, vulnerable... I am finding myself feeling deflated. I forgot what the aftermath of an experiment like the one I conducted once more last night feels like, an experiment that will most likely not go in my favor. I think at the moment that it will be fine, that no matter what, I'll have the stamina.

Almost a day in, and well, it's not as easy peasy as I might have thought it would be. I am back feeling alone, rejected, wondering why, coming up with multiple reasons only to revert to self-affirmations that I am good enough, and why qualify what I am feeling.

Ah, the aftermath of what's been said and done. Silence is a mother if you ask me. I love it in some instances but in this one - it is cutting. It is cruel. It is becoming thicker and more deafening by the minute. I want you to answer, say something, but the fear persists that you won't. 

If C is right and I come across as insecure in my truth standing, then what is there to say in return? I don't think I'd answer myself if I felt all this hesitation breaking through the well meant words. And here I thought truth telling is what counts, that it counts for something special. Not everyone comes forth with the messy. Not everyone shows their confused colors. I did. I continue to do it. But it falls into a vacuum. 

Reality is once more settling in. How much more proof does one person need to feel validated in their suspicion? Can someone make someone else see the proverbial light? Is it advisable in the first place? Is it true that the sign comes when thoughts of the sign have worn themselves out, when the person resigned herself to move on and abandon those hopes?

I call this my last stand. But re reading my lines, I don't know what I was thinking. It's confusing even to me. What was I trying to accomplish with this? It feels like the poignant scene in the rain between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. He tells her that against his good judgment and his pedigree he loves her most ardently. She is appalled by his declaration and challenges him to stem those feelings with the same reticence he just expressed. I did the exact same thing. I mentioned that my feelings were against my liking, against my mind, against what makes sense.

And here I am wondering why my loves walk the distance. No wonder any semblance of a possible togetherness vanishes into implausibility. I am not properly centering myself inside the arena. I am not turning on my back. I am still relying on ego to paint a murky picture of where I stand heart wise. As my mother would say: "Je suis incorrigible". 

This afternoon, I felt tempted to remedy what I had penned. I wanted to add, to clarify, to simplify, but we all know what that does, adding to what's probably already a nuisance. It becomes overkill. Why can't I just let you go? What is it about you that leaves me hanging on to paraphrase a song lyric? How many more imaginary scars do I need to inflict before I am finished with you?

I wish for nothing more than for my intention to be strong, sturdy, and relentless. "I can create what I see possible". If that is so, then I need to create with more determination than I've evidenced so far. I need to be sure about what I'm feeling and stay strong, brandish my truth, unwavering, calm, collected, confident that the day soon will come when you will reach out to me and confess what I just did, and that is that there is a bond between us that makes this a powerful connection, one that can be scary, absolutely, no doubt about it, but aren't those connections the ones that absolutely should be forged and fortified, explored and excavated? Isn't that what makes life so worth living?

I have said my last words. There isn't much more I can add. Yet, it appears that I muddied the waters more, and I don't see you wading through them, trying to gain clarity. I don't think you care enough or maybe you are just otherwise engaged, the way maybe E or A or others are at the moment, who seemed interested at one point but have since receded into obscuring mist. 

Despite the silence, the mystery persists. What was I to you? What may I be still? Am I deluded to feel what I am feeling? Am I alone in this? Why aren't you answering me? What will be?

Only tomorrow will tell. But tomorrow is a long day's away and my thoughts want resolution, they want, an opening or a proper closure.

As Rumi wrote: not a subtle argument. The door there is (silent) devastation.