Because it’s late and I am scared…

Not quite sure why I came back to this blog of all places at a time like this. I just spent far too long reading about real-life atrocities on Wikipedia, and now I feel sickened and saddened, and fearful that sleep will only be accompanied by horrific dreams. My first thought was to read something really shallow and distracting, but somehow doing that would seem irreverent to the memory of those who I just read about who have suffered so much. I am supposed to feel sad and sickened by things that are sad and sickening, and I think it is right that I am as deeply affected as I am and that this knowledge and these feelings cannot be so easily brushed off. I have not written for so, so long, not just on this blog, but anywhere. Everytime I have thought to do so much as even journal, I have stopped because of some small laziness that is probably just fear in disguise. Oh Rachel, do not try to elude Writing!

Here is a poem from some months back:

Oh love
why do you wither and fade
why do you turn from bursting smiles
and breathlessness
to sighs and shortness of words?
Why must you grow old, and tired,
and ordinary?
I loved him like the wind in the night
I held him so tightly and loved him so fiercely,
pressed my cheek to his chest and dared
everyone to tell me I would ever feel otherwise.

I love him still, but I am tired
I feel alone and I wish the
strength had not left me.
Our love so taut has now
grown soft, and I am tired, tired.

Oh love, why did you ever come
at all?
I would rather you had died young
gone out with a bang, than suffer
through this slow lingering.
Shut the door and don’t look back, Love,
I am so, so tired.