Friday, June 25, 2010

Not Again

Why is it that we always want exactly what we cannot have?

Somewhere within me, there is this terribly painful feeling. I do not even know where specifically it is. The closest description I have is that it feels like someone scooped his hand underneath and behind my stomach, or maybe my gut, and then pulled out whatever was there at the time, scraping his dirty fingernails against my skin's insides and leaving not only hollowness where there should be fullness, but also tiny scars that only make known their presence when I need it least.

I would like to think that what I just explained makes sense, but it barely even does to me. It's the best I can do. I really just think it's either understandable or it's not.

A part of me wonders what would happen if I suddenly rejected the obedient belief that "everything happens for a reason" and instead fought nail, tooth, and bone (and organ, flesh, and spirit) to effect the changes and outcomes I want to see. Maybe that sounds selfish. It probably does. But sometimes I feel like the way I want things to turn out makes far more sense than the way they ultimately do. Do things not turn out the way you hope because, somewhere on the other end of the situation (be it another person, the cosmos, what have you--I don't even know), the perception does not align with your own? Do desires and hopes only come to fruition when everyone involved concurs?

I'm waiting desperately for some sort of sign that somewhere, at the other end of this dream, the thing I want more than anything will nod in agreement, the thin string between us reverberating the welcomed response.

Until then, this string is frail and still.

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