Do you ever have that feeling when you just can’t free your thoughts from their locked up cages?
When your head is alive and constantly ticking and will never cease to stop wondering, longing and hoping? When your days are so consumed by exploring the myriad of paths and decisions you could have taken, or should have taken, or possibly never will; when you are so perplexed about the ultimate eventuality of all of the choices you have made, and what havoc their bitter sweet consequences will wreak?
I’ve been wanting to write for so long, to write about the constant circling path I’m taking in my head, but the words just dry up.
Because right now inspiration is fleeting and consequences are the only topic that seems to be plaguing my mind. The consequences of what I think, and say, and do; and what I could have thought and said and done.
And it frustrates me, because I no longer know how to transpose this whirlwind of confusion and disaster and utter missing into the words I usually find so naturally. This time it appears that I just cannot formulate words into a pattern of any kind. My timid thoughts would much rather reside locked up in my conciousness where they can parasitically take captive everything I once held dear.
Because there is so much I long to write about.
I long to write about the desperate yearning for my best friend to come back, and be here, and be safe.
I long to write about my bewildered search for God as I am constantly dazed by the confusion of what is truth and what is fiction.
I long to write about my fears and insecurity and the compulsion for self-undermining.
I long to be able to write again, and most of all I long to be free again.
I don’t wish for easy options or an open exit, but I wish for the end of stagnation and the first few steps of getting out of this self-inflicted cave I choose to live inside.
But I remain hopeful, and I remain faithful. Because one day I will escape this cavern and climb that mountain, regardless of the consequences.