Discontent is an empty feeling, dancing through my heart hand in hand with longing and unfulfillment.
Too much space has been carved out within me, and it takes so much to fill the bare corners, the empty halls, and the stark quarters.
More is needed, but no more can be given. Everyone has a limit, it seems. They give until they can give no more. They sometimes give more in the beginning when all is new and exciting; faltering in the middle when they perhaps feel that it's more ordinary, and become somewhat complacent. Desire to share cools, distance grows, loneliness returns.
I am different.
I do not find comfort or shelter in time. I do not take my position for granted. I wake up each day with the small fear inside me that today, perhaps, is the day when he'll find that excitement again. I fear it won't be with me.
I try to need less.
I try my hardest to hold in my words, my feelings, and to smile more often than I feel I'm capable of.
I try to be gentle, standing nearby in case I'm wanted, always making it as clear as possible that I'm here. I'm right here, and I love you more than you can imagine is possible.
What I don't say is that I'm cold, lonely, starving for attention. Desperately needing the things hidden and kept inside. Made to feel that I'm not temporary, made to feel that I'm half of our whole.
I want to reach out, pull you close and feel you. I want to know who you are under the things you hide behind. I want to see all of you, to know all of you. I want to share your burden and know the things I should avoid.
This is me sharing myself. This is my deep center. I have very little else to offer but my heart; my whole heart. My depth is simply the way I feel, the way I think, and the way I love. My secrets are of the same kind. I haven't done anything worth declaring as a secret; actions are seldom remembered, and often I find myself walking into something that I didn't see coming, walking out scarred and bruised and afraid. I live in my head.
Perhaps you feel the same as I feel. Perhaps I've left you feeling cold and alone. Perhaps I've failed in pulling you into me and I've failed to give you what I've tried to give. Perhaps I've left you feeling unfulfilled and needing something you can't name, but want with a hunger that takes you and holds you and doesn't let go.
Have I failed to love you the way you need to be loved? Have I not given you what you need to be given? Is my way ineffective? Like pouring water into sand?
Am I too intense? Too needy? Too demanding?
If only I knew what you need from me, I'd give it. If you need less of my heart and more of my mind.
If you need more actions and less words.
If you need more space and less physical contact.
I've carved out too much space and now I'm empty.
Too much space has been carved out within me, and it takes so much to fill the bare corners, the empty halls, and the stark quarters.
More is needed, but no more can be given. Everyone has a limit, it seems. They give until they can give no more. They sometimes give more in the beginning when all is new and exciting; faltering in the middle when they perhaps feel that it's more ordinary, and become somewhat complacent. Desire to share cools, distance grows, loneliness returns.
I am different.
I do not find comfort or shelter in time. I do not take my position for granted. I wake up each day with the small fear inside me that today, perhaps, is the day when he'll find that excitement again. I fear it won't be with me.
I try to need less.
I try my hardest to hold in my words, my feelings, and to smile more often than I feel I'm capable of.
I try to be gentle, standing nearby in case I'm wanted, always making it as clear as possible that I'm here. I'm right here, and I love you more than you can imagine is possible.
What I don't say is that I'm cold, lonely, starving for attention. Desperately needing the things hidden and kept inside. Made to feel that I'm not temporary, made to feel that I'm half of our whole.
I want to reach out, pull you close and feel you. I want to know who you are under the things you hide behind. I want to see all of you, to know all of you. I want to share your burden and know the things I should avoid.
This is me sharing myself. This is my deep center. I have very little else to offer but my heart; my whole heart. My depth is simply the way I feel, the way I think, and the way I love. My secrets are of the same kind. I haven't done anything worth declaring as a secret; actions are seldom remembered, and often I find myself walking into something that I didn't see coming, walking out scarred and bruised and afraid. I live in my head.
Perhaps you feel the same as I feel. Perhaps I've left you feeling cold and alone. Perhaps I've failed in pulling you into me and I've failed to give you what I've tried to give. Perhaps I've left you feeling unfulfilled and needing something you can't name, but want with a hunger that takes you and holds you and doesn't let go.
Have I failed to love you the way you need to be loved? Have I not given you what you need to be given? Is my way ineffective? Like pouring water into sand?
Am I too intense? Too needy? Too demanding?
If only I knew what you need from me, I'd give it. If you need less of my heart and more of my mind.
If you need more actions and less words.
If you need more space and less physical contact.
I've carved out too much space and now I'm empty.
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