impassioned silence.

it's sad, that lives can be shattered into so many pieces. they can never be repaired, not even by the force of love. some want to know what it means to be in love. by in my dictionary, "in love", used to be undefinable.
I'm in love. I like how that feels; I hate how it feels. because love is just an invention of fiction writers. in my book, the heart I've damaged and patched up over and over is now gaining its power back, beating again. but in my book there is always something that overpowers it; and this time, its the abhorrent fact that I may not be calling Connecticut my home anymore. that just may be the one thing that will blow our closeness into distant pieces.
I want to turn and run. if I can't run, i want to scream. I want to scream, but I can't find my voice, hidden somewhere in the indigo sea that has swamped my brain. blue. deep, dark blue. the blue that fills me with desire, the desire to forfeit completely.
today, I sat through another forty-five minute session said to be helpful to the PTSD. my heart is heady with a synthesis of emotions. I feel satisfied, that I didn't breakdown today, didn't confess major sin. I feel relieved to have to admit a little of what's inside my head. sometimes I think it might split wide, cracked by the upheaval bubblingt beneath my skull. but most people think there's nothing troubling me at all.
life is tenuous. flickering glimpses, like ancient, decomposing 16mm film. happiness escapes me in my thoughts, where faces are vague and yesterday seems to come tied up in ribbons of pain. I look for it instead in today, where memory is something I can still touch, still rely on. I find it in the smiles of new friends, the hope blossoming inside. some of those happiest memories, I still have yet to create.

I'll still live in my mom's shadow; I'll still drive myself to achieve impossible perfection. and i'll never let myself believe someone really loves me.
did I just lie to myself? I think I did.