I’m still writing about you and you haven’t read a word.
Do you ever get tired of writing about someone/thing? Every post. Every page. Every line. Every word. They all come from the same place. That feeling just won’t go away and because of who you are, it shows up in your work. No matter how you try to spin it, change your tone, or make it humorous, the message remains the same. “I’m not over it.”
It’s like trying to cover up a tattoo. The outline of the original is faint and if your artistry is good, others won’t be able to tell that there is something underneath. But you know that there is. Youknow it’s there. You remember that below this brand new displace, there’s a dark mark on your flesh that you put there, thinking that you’d be happy with it forever.
I’m exhausted. I feel like I haven’t made any progress. My healing method has always been to write it out. Whatever was on my mind and in my heart, I’d transfer it to paper and wouldn’t stop until I felt better. But I don’t feel better and I don’t want to write about it anymore. I want to be over it. Every story is only a reminder. Years pass and I’m still obsessing. I’m disparate for new inspiration. I long to feel differently. I’ve been searching for the good in all of it but I’ve come up empty handed.
I’ve tried to plant the seeds and grow a new life. But before they get a chance to see the sun, the weeds of my past choke the life out of them. My garden needs tending to. Or is it that the soil here is no good? Will nothing ever grow?
So I’m stuck. It seems I’ll write of this forever. I’ll demand myself to get over it. I’ll even pretend to be. But I’ll write of it still.