The confusion makes my heart wistful.

I do appreciate the instant that clouded my eyes -  fucking words that I didn't expect to come alive. I wanted them to go away- so I went away instead.  Maybe all of this gives me the right to give advice on the right thing to say- whatever that might be - or it's muddled my vision. I can't see the future so I should say nothing.  But I sat there and avoided you for so goddamn long.  I fled, I tried to not look at you, I failed.

glorious confusion, this ache - wish I knew its name - I feel so goddamned stupid.

I'm just nursing it through another day and closing my eyes to what I don't even know exists.  It doesn't exist, not really, does it?  There's nothing there, there's nothing there, is there?.

I don't feel like a creature of desire.  I feel like a creature of longing, or dream, or silence. I'm learning to love the impossible. Allowed to see two perfectly desirable options with equally devastating results to me.  Both sides could be simple perfection.  Life as it is, which is good, happy, productive and life as it could be - that remains ethereal, transparent, a glacier of uncertainty.  I can't even squint into the darkness there to find the tangible foothold that I so want to be there.  

But it's like writing a love letter to someone who doesn't know your name.  Even if they got the message they wouldn't be sure if it was really for them.

So, I can mourn for 'could be' and then mourn for what I could lose. I ache, not because of desire, but the undesired result-  god, that hurts, and the undesired answer- when you can't have everything.

Sometimes I shouldn't be logical
Sometimes I shouldn't be practical                      

(Sometimes I can't be logical or practical)

Sometimes the ache should push to act
Sometimes it should push to hide.    

(Sometimes I hide too much)

I just admit to myself , when I see what makes me ache across the room, across the table, or riding in the car beside me, that I can only admire transparent perfection of things that could be... or should be... hell, they just might be. They never will.

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