The Weight of Intangibles

Sometimes, I feel completely alone. No matter how much I try to reach out, or try to connect. Sometimes, I feel unwanted. No matter how much love I pour out, or try to perfect. Sometimes, I feel misunderstood. No matter how much I try to explain, or try to correct. My delivery always seems off or lost in translation. I’m told that I’m “overthinking” or labelled “crazy.” Sometimes, I feel inconsolably sad. No matter how much I try to pretend, or try to mask. Sometimes, I feel broken inside. No matter how much I try to mend, or try to bask in the ambience of joy and life. Sometimes, I try to block out the whispers of birds in the night. Telling me that something is not right. Telling me to trust my gut and run the other way. Telling me that I’m blinded by the light of my own rose-tinted glasses. Those whispers have followed me across oceans and seas, through familiar and unfamiliar species. And yet, I still fight to believe my own heart. Fight to hold on to the parts that have been shown to me. The picture of what will be, shall be, can be… The promise of what’s to come, and not what it is. The constant voice that is as elusive as a ghost. That appears, disappears and reappears at its own will. A voice that creeps up and says “I want this,” “I love you,” “Don’t go.” Words that are intangible and float in the air. Yet, hold so much weight in my heart and soul. That pull me apart and make me stay out in the cold, begging for warmth, begging for more. Breadcrumbs that feel like a feast in the moments I receive them, reminded of a time when my tummy was once full. Holding on to the hope that with each promise and chance provided, we get one step closer to having all the tools. Needed to build the home and settle in the nest. It seems in my search for a love that is free, I realized that all I needed was a safe place to rest. Paradoxically, I fell in love with one who has no desire to be a home… Who has no space to hold. Who wants to be free.