Maybe...

Maybe it IS time to pack a bag.  Maybe letting it all go in how I find my answers.  "As long as he has pen, paper, and life...there will always be something to read."  I've gotten away from the me that statement was made about.  I want him back.

The start...

I have started to write such as this uncountable times over the past 10 years.  The reasons I believe I will be able to finish over the next days, weeks, are my own.  After "all this time" the pain of the events covered in a few minutes of furious scribbling is as much as I can endure, for now.  Comments will be disabled, feedback unwelcome.
With that said: Part One.
I recall each and every word.
The passionate rise in your voice.
an overall tone of anger, indignation.
this particular tone indicated one thing.
there would be no compromise.
I knew that, yet still stubbornly held my ground.
Feeling justified in my stance.
Fire flashed in your eyes, your lips quivered
"This is far from over"
The door slammed shut, and I shook my head.
I was late as well.
Going to have to do ninety to open on time.
The keys were turning in the shop door...
An indescribable feeling washed over me...
The horror it brought eclipses any anger,
as I race in to dial your number.
Horror turns to panic when I'm told you haven't arrived.
The main line starts to ring as I hang up.
"Good Morning, This is Kris, How may I assist you?"
The officer's voice continues, but I only heard one phrase.
"There has been an accident..."
The tone said the rest...
My knees buckled,
The phone slipped from my grasp...

I couldn't tell you how long I was on the floor.
crumpled, just as I fell.  Coworkers tried to ask what was wrong...
I couldn't get past "She's.." in my almost incoherent responses
The officer's uniform filled my line of tear staind vision.
I have no idea what he said prior to helping me to my feet,
and pretty much carring me to his car.
The buildings and whatever else I should have seen
Just a blur, I had bairly been in the car before I was out again.
The questions, the facts, none of it made any sense.
It couldn't be real.  I must be dreaming.  I...
was in the morgue,
looking through someone else's eyes.
the screaming, wailing, that wasn't my voice...
(enough for now again.)

This is one of those times nothing makes sense.  You know what?  It's not going to.  The sooner one realizes and accepts that simple fact, the better.  So the day passes me by in h haze of cigarette smoke, time only marked by how long it takes the next pot of coffee to brew.  No, it isn't wasted.  It just is.  Once again I am okay with that.  For now, I'd rather sit here by the window, detached from all the bullshit below.  These too long blank pages are starting to fill.  I am getting reacquainted with old friends...the ragged, dog eared books of poetry. The ones that collected dust while I chased after some form of socially acceptable bullshit.  For the first time in far too long, my mind is quiet.  I don't expect anyone to understand, could give a fuck less if they tried.  Because today was for me.

Maybe...

My fingers carve
the lines deeper
as I drag them across
my skin.

Maybe they'll peel away
my supposed shell
and I, I may finally see
the monster
you say I am.

A summer night.

Stale air whiffs through the window
dead, stagnant heat.
the way I feel inside.
a story of one failure after another
maybe I finally know why...
I have never been good at things I don't believe in...
myself included.

from a few weeks ago.

Lost...Adrift...
In a sea of thought and emotion contained within my heart, mind, and soul.  It's as if a hurricane were to be caught in a snow globe.  Everyone looks right past a snow globe...
There, but yet not.  Sure, a glance is granted...but never truly seen.  So, I will sit here on my perch...allowing the storm to rage around me, in me, and to carry me.  The hope of calmer seas lost long ago, and this loneliness seems my destiny.

I'm coming back...

My sanity requires this outlet again.  With that said all I am going to share tonight is this: Hope is the ultimate act of stupidity and love the ultimate act of masochism.