I tried to explain again, about love. It didn't work well enough. My message went through maybe halfway. I'm so tired. 

.

"None of us will ever accomplish anything excellent or commanding except when he listens to this whisper which is heard by him alone."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"You've been crying in the shower? Why?" he asks me, apparently having read my last blog post. 

Don't bond with me over my blog. If you knew me I would tell you. We are strangers, far apart. You look in my eyes and you land somewhere in them I can't be. You go somewhere I can't stay. 

I walk into the bathroom naked, close the door, and turn off the light. After a moment my eyes adjust and I can see well enough in the shadows. I run the water in the shower very hot and commence bathing.

I don't need to really look at anything. I can feel my way around fine. I like the darkness, it shuts the whole world out. So I'm just alone with my thoughts.

I find myself crying, in shuddering sobs.

But it's okay. It is. I'll get clean.

I take a deep breath and sip my coffee, looking over the cluttered mess on my desk. A stack of journals here, a sketchbook there, important official papers loosely piled together in one area, fake flowers and some bamboo sticks just lying around for no reason, a bunch of pens in a jar, a novel by Erica Jong, a doll I sewed for myself a few years back out of pink satin, a box I painted colorful shapes on with random art supplies in it. 

I play with my hair, twisting it nervously. My thoughts are turning around and around in my head. I keep going back to the same places in my mind and then running away from them. I'm trying to figure stuff out. 

And it drives me crazy to act so suddenly without thinking things through in my heart but my heart is on fire and it burns to be me. 

fuck you, you have no idea, fuck you

Shit. I get up and go to the kitchen. Grab a bottle of vodka from the cupboard. And a shot glass. Pour myself a shot. Hold it for a moment and just look at it. Then I look out the window. And back at the glass again. And out the window.

This is not going to save me. I'm only going to be the same old stupid fucking Desiree, but sloppy. It's 9:43 in the morning. Nothing is going to save me. I just have to deal with this. Shit. 

I pour the shot into the sink. Put away the bottle and the glass. Walk away.

Am I strong enough? Will I ever fucking win?