broken

I don't want to write, but I have to.
I don't want to keep this grip on the "good I know is out there somewhere."
But if I don't...if I let go now...

This last turn of events broke me.
Coming through so much,
coming out of so much,
building a life I loved that actually held hope -
scary but real hope -
only to have it all fall apart around me,
again -
like always.

It finally broke me.

My faith is rent.

What is the point?

Right now, all I can see in my future is hurt. Pain. Loneliness. Emptiness. I can't believe in dreams anymore. It's meaningless. To start over again, to pick up this mess and glue it back together again - why? To what end? I'll just be back on my hands and knees picking up these same broken pieces in time. It's just a depressing matter of time.

I thought this time would be different. I thought I was finally safe to hope. I was wrong.

So, I write. I write to listen to that annoying, tinny voice in my head that's warning me not to let go. 'Cause if I let go this time - I honestly don't think I'd ever make it back.

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