Something to say. . . about something.

I've sat mostly quiet these past months, both in body and mind; especially on the net. I've written few stories in my journals, and read even fewer from others. It's not that I've had nothing to say mind you. It's just that I've had nothing good to say, about anything. And anyone. One in particular. You might want to convince me of the absurdity that comes with the idea that a life can revolve around but one thing, but you won't. You can't, because it's not true. Oh it's true we all have lots of things in our lives, lots of little twigs that make us strong, but we all have that one thing; the one thing that makes it worth while. Some of you may not know what it is right off, but it's there. You might think you can guess what mine is, but you'd probably be wrong. And yes, I do say is, not was or should be, but is. Some times in life we find something that attaches a tangible idea to it, and when we lose that temporal charm we can feel lost, broken, even worthless. We mourn in different ways. Everybody feels sad differently, but everybody feels sad. I've been criticized for this blog because it can be too depressing, too sad. Well, some people turn to violence, some turn to substance abuse, and some abuse themselves. I've done all those things. I'd rather be sad. I'd rather let my heart grow soft and weak than to burnish it with anger and regret. The sadness does pass, and there is no better time to prove your humanity. I still have nothing good to say of certain things, no answers to explain it. I've isolated myself so much there aren't even questions anymore, just a phantom in expressions and gestures- hints of things gone by, people gone by. I have one friend in my life. One family tree- and as one leaf falls another sprouts up; After a while the fallen one's won't seem so unique. (But that's not quite true is it. The truth is that they are all unique- but remembering all the subtle little things can be such a burden. It can drive you mad.) So we forget. Our brains forget, to save us from ourselves. But there is the difference between me and you. I can't forget them. My brain won't let me. I remember every last one, lost to the past- separated by time and circumstances, yet still there in every breath I breathe. But none so present, none so powerful as the one I still see every night when I close my eyes. I lied before. I've been lying to myself for some time now. I do have something to say, something good. I just have no one to tell it to anymore. Of course, that never stopped me before. I guess I'm just not ready for whoever might be listening. But then again, I never have been. I guess that's always been part of the problem. But the sprouts still come nonetheless. And until I'm the one fallen, I'll be saying/writing something somewhere.