lemonade at midnight
i feel strangely alright. i have all day.and i'm sick of it.
the feelings don't seem quite real; the edges are all blurred and slightly dull. the way your mouth feels after it's been filled with novocaine -- numb. you know it's there, you can reach up and touch it with your fingers, but to move it feels surreal as if you're only thinking of moving it. i'm not sure i'm making sense.
inside it's as if i'm not feeling enough. as if this short bout of contentment is simply not satiating my appetite, i need more, something stronger. and if i can't find it in happiness then i know i turn to pain. i don't want to; God i don't want to. so why do i? and will i again now?
will it ever stop?
i want to be real, i'm just not sure how. inside i'm trembling, waiting for everything -- anything -- to come falling down and prove my fears right, bringing the familiar taste of pain. optimism doesn't come into the picture, although it should i know. in my mind though, ignoring the truth of emotion (if such a thing even exists) is like waking in the middle of the night to find your house on fire, then closing your eyes and falling back asleep instead of finding a way out.
i need out.