It Ends Here

Just words.

What do they mean? 

What do they change? 

Who do they touch? 

What is the point?

There are times when a pen gliding across the page feels like my only friend on earth. A friend with time to listen, support, free of judgment, full of subtle understanding.

This is an isolated existence of my design, seeming to mean little once the full stop has been placed. And there are times when the words that flow through me feel like a relevant connection to the one thing I genuinely trust, my thoughts.

But that’s all they are, pure thoughts, a written conversation, that in many ways, is one-dimensional. So why continue? Why bother? Why care? Why?

I don’t have the answers today, for today is a day of doubt, of not knowing, of living a fragile reality, seemingly trapped by the ever-shifting walls of my mind, denying me a view of the future where hope can be seen.

This view may be a needed friend protecting me from the reality that I am not ready to accept, not equipped to handle. Or this view may be what I can’t see, a view readily appreciated by others.

The truth is that today I have no idea. All I know is that today the weight of reality feels heavy, uncomfortable, needy. 

So I guess for today, the words are for me, and today, that is enough to make me look forward to tomorrow.