It is difficult.
April 21, 2009
The sun is bright and merciless as it’s rays reach my sleeping eyelids, forcing me to make a decision. Do I wake up, greet the morning and begin my day or, do I roll over and waste half the day trying to avoid the cold loneliness that is constantly slicing through my every thought. There is no alternative, it’s one way or the other.
It’s a melancholy that is unfamiliar with words, it is not something that is easily describable. It is difficult. It slips between the fingers and falls to the rug, to be swept underneath and quickly forgotten if possible.
There are other times though. There are times when the same sad and bitter feeling can not even be left alone for a moments time, not even just to clear your thoughts before sleep. Like trying to lift what seem like amazingly large stones when you’re a child. Your eyes tell you that you can, and because of that, you absolutely should be able to lift it. Only to find out that the stone goes six inches deeper into the soil than you were able to see.
“No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself.” – John Steinbeck
