“I am a marathon runner and my legs are sore and I am anxious to see what it is I’m runnin’ for.”
There is no amount of preparation that will save you from uncertain emotion. There is no amount of soul searching that will prepare you for the damned unpredictable. There is no amount of self reflection that will save you from apathy or fear or fear disguised as apathy. No, these things, all, will have their way with you.
There were so many nights that felt the same on some level. There was the drinking, of course. The opening of a bottle and the decision to unravel are only the opening stages. The music is important. Silence is not your friend in this frame of mind. No, when choosing to teeter on a dangerous precipice inside your mind, one needs an anchor. Attach yourself to that anchor and go forth.
For me, there are always tears. They come on gently at first. They tickle my cheeks, slide their way into my ear where they pool listlessly. And I don’t know what causes me to cross over to hysterics, but once my chest begins to heave, once my breast bears too much weight, I gasp for air, I empty my lungs, and I wish for it all to go away, this pain. Just make it go away. I didn’t want any of this, so why do I keep falling in the same place?
I stand tall and strong, head held aloft. I look at you hard and I am thinking, “I may not be invincible, but I am not going to bring you down.” I am beyond the selfish means of an emotional drifter. I do not want to drag you through anything. I want to make you smile to yourself. I want you to feel a warmth curl through your body when you think of me. It doesn’t seem too much to ask. It seems really so very simple to me. I want to love you and I want you to let me.
There is a lack of control that paralyzes you at the beginning. I cannot change anything that you are saying to me. These words, hurtful as they are, are your truth. They are your reality. They are from the source of your hidden heart. You give them to me. It is a gift wrapped in disaster. They will rip me apart, those words, and yet I must receive them. After all, I told you I was in this with you. I didn’t say I was in this so long as it was good, so long as it seemed a dream. And when I said that I wanted to stand by you, this isn’t the scenario I had in mind, I’ll be honest. But it’s not scripted. None of this was predicted, and yet all of this was possible.
We are here now. We are in it. When I can still couch terms in “we”, shouldn’t I feel relief? When hysteria makes way for sheer uncertainty, where is the victory? There is only to go forward.
It is all we have, aside from a whole lot of love and a couple of busted up hearts.
Yellow Ostrich - ‘Marathon Runner’
there’s 49 more of these – if my math is correct. there’s also a book deal officially being talked about. and if I could trade the emails between Tara and I, I would… but trust that girl is deep. and funny. like – in real life like. the stuff above is how she is, and I can bet you it’s spontaneous prose, with no edits [except for grammar - cause she's into shit like good grammar.]