I’ve had this damn blank email open all day. For 9 hours the empty white space has glared at me while I pretended to work, mocking me with it’s vast nothingness.

And no words would come.

I’ve known for a while what I wanted to say, I’ve known it as instinctively as I know how to breathe. If you can call either ‘knowledge’, then I know it well. But, like all things that will ultimately make me vulnerable, my mind shies away from it. Sluggishly I call the emotions into my conscious mind, inner ice glaring at that which it considers weak. 

Mentally, I perform an act that reminds me of sinking down into a ready crouch, distractedly observing the thoughts that pass me. I have to keep alert, I feel that at any moment I could feel that rush again, and it will overpower me. That which I accept as my love for you is overwhelming, and even that thought alone is dangerous. I struggle with my curiosity, with my violent urge to cut deeper, to release whatever it is I’m keeping within, but I cannot. With the guilt of someone who self harms, I conceal the product of my search. Love and pride as blood on my hands, I feel the shame of a woman who feels.

The steady ache of a wound that will not heal pounding in my arm, drawing my attention back from everything that tries to hold it. A wound that cries that I love you, despite everything within me trying to hold it back. Even now I write to fill the page, even now I fail. I try to convey who I am, and am drawn back from the brink. Have I become such that my love for you is the main element of who I am? And then, as it all comes back to it, when the abandonment finally comes.. what do I have that’s left of me?