whispering_to_you Sonya What does it mean when one has no real home? What are we supposed to call it when you go away for awhile and return home, only to find that you feel as though you never really belonged there? Why is it that so many of us are lonely? What is the cure when those around you are busy or simply (and painfully) absent? I wish I had it conveniently in my pocket. If only it were in a small vile like something out of Alice In Wonderland. I am lost. I'm standing on the street corner of adulthood waiting for a bus that has yet to arrive. The moment moves ever closer and I frantically check the little paper schedule I carry everywhere. I see you sitting on a bench by yourself. A crowd blocks my path. A crowd of familiar, threatening faces chains me to the steel post. I scream, but it drifts out in a whisper. This suffocation is searing. It's hard to see. It's hard to be me. The charade can't go on much longer. I'm going to break. All that was once hidden and sacred and known only to you will pour forth and be exposed, ridiculed, and assaulted verbally by those who never try to understand. Obligation mixed with expectation can lead to emotional devastation. You seem to understand this, but they do not. Autumn is right around the corner. How I wish that I was a leaf to be swept and thrown away quietly into a pile where you rest. I'm confused. I'm confused and afraid of what may or may not lie ahead. These petite hands of mine are struggling to hold on...for us. These same hands were holding a steering wheel tonight. I gazed to the right in the darkness only to find a vacant seat where you should have been. I listened to a radio station reminiscent of the ones you listen to all the time. This heart of mine is about to leap out of my chest. Should I keep it in? For now I probably should. My moniker isn't "hey you" or "tell her I want to talk to her" anymore. It's "sweetheart"...yet I feel that I'm rather bittersweet...like chocolate maybe? What is life like for a truffle? It sits there in a golden box - round, shiny, smooth, waiting to be devoured. The anticipation must be horrible. I'm avoiding a lot of the music I used to listen to. There's no sense in wasting even more paper products. The least I could do is try to be environmentally friendly. How do I convey to you the feelings that flow through me now? How do I convey the ache? I know you feel it too. Even if I had the largest canvas on earth, whatever I painted wouldn't even come close to revealing the magnitude. At times I find it hard to admit the depth of what I feel. Right now I wish I could watch you sleep or be there in the morning to make you waffles. I hope they were right about the idea that patience has its rewards. I miss you. 020820 what's it to you? who go blather from