Staying On The Vineyard In Sonoma, CA.
Staying on the vineyard in Sonoma, CA.
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A lot of people have hurt me. And sometimes I act like it. š¤·š½āāļø Yāall let people get away with a lot worse.
Iām tired.
How Iām gonā worry ābout yāall, but yāall aināt worried ābout me? š
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How?
How could I tell him my aesthetic is crying in beautiful places and that I think tenderness is a virtue?
He is a man of science, not romance. He loves flowers and watches them bloom, but doesnāt seem to value his own growth.
I like how he kept me warm at night, but his silence was so cold. Yet, it wasnāt personal.
He clearly has thoughts racing through his mind, but no ache to share them. No need to exchange ideals and penetrate each otherās gray matter. I wanted our brains and our bodies to merge.
I canāt address any of this with him, for itās only met with cynicism. A know it all, who knows me not.
Standing in line waiting for my turn at the register fueled me with a desire to run. I walked out of the store with less time than I walked it, and that was the only change involved.
I wonder why no one is calling me. Checking on me. Wanting to hear my voice, smell my skin, or feel my hair on their face. The screen on my phone stays dark except for when I check for someoneās attention that isnāt there.
How has this become the soundtrack of my life? Silence and sobs. These are the constant sounds of my day to day.
How much longer can I endure this? How much longer will I have to? How?
(9.29.18)
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