Jude, It's Late...Leave That For Morning.

I'm sitting down to write. Maybe that's why I can't. The emotions flow and I have to follow the words where they'll take me, but I don't want to go back to this place. The words always lead me back here...back to this...back to saddness.

Is it worth the fight for happiness if at the end I'm too exhausted to feel it?

I speak of giving up so much here that I think you, the reader, may believe I actually have. Don't let me fool you, I only wish I could. The fight for rightness, for certainty, for clarity, for happiness is all I've ever known. Weary as I may be, there is hope in me. If I could give that up then I could stop fighting, perhaps find some peace. But my glow just won't go out...

Tomorrow could be a good day. Tomorrow could be the day it all changes. This hope could crush me, and it probably will. Again, and again.

If I write enough, for long enough...will I write this longing from my bones? If I get the rest out, will the loneliness finally leave me alone? Is there a number of words I can reach that will free me finally? Until then I'll put on a hell of a show.