Hello all. This is a different kind of story that I just felt the pressing need to post somewhere. It is unedited, unscripted, plotless, and really close to my heart. I may do a string of these in the future, but regardless, here goes the first attempt. 

Words don’t do it justice.

This clawing, aching feeling threatening to scoop out everywhere you put your heart. This desperate desire to be wanted—to want. The obsessive need to fill that whole with anything and everything that one possibly can.

It’s like diving into darkness, having dreamed there was a light on the other end of the path. And that dream keeps you awake at night as you smile to yourself in the dark. Staring up at your ceiling, you laugh and imagine stories and people filling that place in your heart. You long to give them a hug, a smile, hell, even to see them one last time.

And then you remember why you shouldn’t. You remember why two years will still be a four-year age gap. You remember all the flaws you assigned him. You realize that he won’t still love you in two years—he will have moved on.

And you wonder if you truly love him or if you are simply assigning someone at a futile attempt to fill the empty void within you.

You wonder if you dream solely for the sake of dreaming, so that you don’t have to imagine the reality you are living in. You watch others kiss and you fall apart inside, unwilling to admit that YES, even a cynic wants to love.

Because as much as you hate to admit it, being in love is the best feeling in the world. But what happens afterwards…it destroys friendships. And then you move on, and it’s just another event that happened in your life.

Because you don’t even want the commitment of love—you just want this empty hole within you to go away, and the only reason it is there in the first place is because someone four years older than you reminded you that it could be filled with something, and some stupid guy calling you his best friend asked you who you thought about at night.

And you refused to answer…until you answered honestly, and he gave you the saddest look anyone has ever given you and said, “I’m sorry, Kara, I really am, but you can’t. You just can’t.”

And you nod along and agree, hoping that the logic will still your too-fast heart. Yet still, when you close your eyes you see him, you hear him in the silence.

You slam your words onto paper, bleeding into ink and pen. You bleed your denial, your hopeless, helpless longing of your wretched heart, and you slowly let the life drain away, until passion recedes, and once more you are cold.

Logical.

Smart.

Pathological.

And when you close your eyes, you only see the darkness of your heart’s abyss.