Just needed to write

I always take on this hollow sort of feeling whenever I finish reading a book. When I’m in the midst of it, I dream of the setting, feel the presence of the characters, feel for them. Then suddenly with one final word, and a last punctuation mark, it’s all over again. I have to find a new story to fall in love with. New characters to cling to. It feels like I’m pouring a part of my soul out into the story as I go, and the portion allotted for that book is finally ripped away at last with those few final words.

I’m overanalyzing again I know I am. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I let these crazy notion embed themselves within my brain and I won’t let go of them. They feel so right, the ideas just seem to work themselves out somehow. Like I would be foolish to believe that there wasn’t a chance…that things hadn’t changed. It’s not healthy, it’s not fair. It’s not the right thing to do and yet I can’t keep myself from it. Maybe it’s not as bad as all of that…

Last night I dreamt that I was in the arena…last night I dreamt many strange and vivid things. All of them served as a reminder that my life at it’s most primary level is just a story. A story that has already passed over some of the toughest bits. Right now I feel as though I’m living in the epilogue of my childhood. That the tragedy of the past few years is truly over, and now I’m just left to reap the rewards of victory…in my case the rewards that accompany just being alive. Perhaps the greatest battle I’ve ever weathered…and of course I didn’t do it alone.

Why else would things be going this way? I’m wrong to question it, I like it. I’m slowly coming to the realization that I have everything I’ve been pining for for the past year or so. There is no reason to feel uncertain about things right now…except to say that they could change again. That they could change back. This too could be as fleeting as my own feelings. Those feelings I was so sure I could let go of…

These stories of late have kept me going. Stories of mismatched romance, determined heroism, complete lack of fear of the unknown. I wish to know these characters better, to spend time with them, if only to let them know the effect that they’ve had on my life. I already feel the presence of their spirit so much in my own. So many characters inside me. I have to wonder how much of me is composed of fictional characters. Have I become more brave, more courageous by spending time in the wild with Katniss? Have I become more foolish and unobservant to the effect I have on those around me? Though I’ve heard that I’m fairly adept in that category already…I wonder how much of that is true.

this is just sad everyone else is gone and yet I sit here alone with my computer, wishing I could be there taking part in this one final journey…I know it doesn’t matter, I was there with him when it mattered but I still can’t help but feel a pang of…guilt.

But there was so much pain…there’s always pain and I can’t help but wonder how infectious it could be. I would latch onto it, I would savor it. Enjoying the sense  that there will always at least be sadness to keep me feeling. Sadness is just happiness for deep people right? But what do you think? What do you really think? If you could find the words…what would you say now?

It’s unbelievable how much I allow the stories to come into my heart. There are times when I catch myself not really thinking about my life or my decisions for entire days at a time. Instead I approach my problems as they would, I try to decide how they would solve them. They help me be strong at times too. Imagining what they’ve had to overcome, believing that I can get through the things that plague me if they could fight off dragons and governments to be with the ones they love. I feel such a kinship with some of them, especially Katniss right now. When there are so many things to concern yourself with; family, survival, keeping yourself on task; how do you go about letting love into your life? But you do, because you can’t help it, and because love can be simply unstoppable. All the denial in the world can’t cloud the obvious…

I just can’t help myself anymore. It’s always been this way, but I was too decent to admit it then. Now there’s nothing in the way of my heart letting my feelings reach my brain, and they have, perhaps too much. I’m beginning to wonder at what point in this post I should have stopped writing…at what point I’ll regret having written it at all. Which word begins to ruin things again…or fix them. At what point do you realize that it’s all really about you?…I shouldn’t have said that.

there’s nothing left to say, nothing left to tell. You know it all, and it’s all still true…my rational side firmly believes that you already know all of this. I don’t see how you couldn’t, but I’m open to another surprise…that’s how it all started anyway. That’s what I need now, another shock that’ll stop me in my tracks.



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