Sometimes she thinks she's strong, sometimes she thinks she's gone past the point of feeling anything at all. Sometimes she's sure she's crazy. Sometimes she feels like maybe the only way to survive is to stay angry. And that works fine most of the time but some things make her cry like Bruce Springsteen, silver Sebrings, eggs scrambled hard, home-made birthday cards. A gray sweatshirt over faded jeans with a hole in the pocket where a wallet's supposed to be. Blue sheets on an unmade bed, strong shoulders with a summer tan and rain in the headlights. Yeah, some things make her cry. She didn't shed a tear when he left her here November 21st of last year. She said she'd be just fine but maybe she lied cause some things make her cry like drive-in movies, oatmeal cookies, 49'ers, all night diners. Blue eyes under a red ball cap, waking up alone at 3AM. Icy streets, New Year's Eve, falling asleep on a brown love seat and runway lights. Yeah, some things make me cry.
Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but valuable. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.
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somehearts's journal