Top o the evenin', y'all.
I want to apologize for the last few days of posting. Sometimes it gets a little dark in here. I need to apologize for the last few days of letters, emails, phone calls and thoughts, too. I never promised you a rose garden.
That's braver, that last paragraph. Braver than I actually am. I'm still shaking from aftershocks. That was a bad one, last night. Kim, I'm not depressed. It's something different and I think we inherited it. I sense it in you sometimes, too. I wonder all the time if my father felt this way. By the time we met he'd gotten over it, or on top of it or under it, but this nasty thing tunneling through him came out in other ways. Me, I'm gonna write.
I think if I can write it out and sing it here and there maybe I won't lose it. I'm interested in drinking myself numb and hard again because I'm somewhat certain that this constant bleeding will keep me always comforted by my own company and that almost exclusively, which makes me wonder if anyone's ever gonna put up with that, but in the long run it's better than how he did it. I'm not gonna do that, although I suspect I was loved a little more when I did.
This way I host more friends and less demons. It means I'm sleeping alone, but I can do that. Anytime y'all can stop reading this. It's for me, anyway. I go out and sing songs, too. It's useless and it fails but I do it. Part of this is the hope of connection.
And with that comes all the reasons I'm not so brave. Yeah, I know, I put it all out there, but that's not brave. Hoping is never brave. A while ago someone told me they loved me and I stared and shrunk. Now I'm open, but I'm almost positive that makes it die. I hear it all the time, you know. Love. Not to be arrogant, but that's something I've got. I just keep experiencing that with those folks around you that love you comes some sacrifices and some debts, but mostly a pretty tremendous fear of that stopping.
Losing is harder than never having.
"Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido."
Por favor, no me deje olvidarse.
Sorry for my poor Spanish. I never promised you a rose garden.