This usual-dry mind of mine is frustrated. There's so much spiraling inside of me, screaming to get out, but I can't let it. I don't know how to for the first time. Words usually spill out of me no matter the reaction,  so to come to a fucking point where I don't know what to say so I can get rid of this fucking emotion is, as stated, frustrating. 

I stole the words from Alexander Pope to post-- he can say what I feel better than I can at this time.

Why I need it out so.. urgently?

Because I love a man so desperately, and I hate him with a passion that burns inside of me continously. I don't understand him, I want to understand him, but I give up. I need to hear his voice, to enjoy his excellent humor, to remind myself why we are so drawn together. At the same time, times when I lay there listening to the echoing silence between us, it's hard to rekindle that feeling.

He told me a few nights ago for the first time in a long time that I was the one for him. That he loved me so much and that he had a ring to put on my finger when I was ready. I hate him so much for that at this moment. I feel that's a lie for many reasons-- or I can only rationilize that it is.

I fucking hate his amazing face, that I wish to look at it over and over. It's been two months since I left, and I find myself with regret. I hate his perfect kiss, his perfect hands. I hate him because it's the only thing that feels good to feel at the moment.

It seems words ended up finding their way out, but it's still not enough. So, here you go. The piece from Pope.

Enjoy.



Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake — no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more — methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.