I Can’t Find the Words


I can’t sleep.


In fact, I haven’t been able to sleep for the past couple of nights. I’m wide awake and I toss and turn in my bed like I’m having an epileptic fit of epic proportions, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. It’s driving me nuts.


I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. The one time I tried, it took you a day to respond, and by then, I blew you off. I wasn’t angry, just disappointed. I really needed you, and you weren’t there. So after that, I didn’t bother. There didn’t seem to be any point.


I know I made a promise, and from your perspective, you probably think that I broke it, but I haven’t. The creative spark in me just died out, and I can’t find a way to get it back. That’s why I reached out to you.


But I guess whatever creative dynamic we had died out along with the friendship. I don’t know. I’m sick of thinking about it. I’m sick of thinking about you, if I’m being honest. I’m not trying to be mean- you’re just the one thing that pops into my head at times when I don’t want you there.


Moments like these, for instance.

I know how much time has passed, and believe me, I feel guilty enough as it is. The last couple of times I’ve tried to write something, I get maybe a page in and then stop out of frustration because it all sounds like crap. Hell, I’ve pretty much quit altogether.


And yet, you’re still taking up residence in my brain.


I wish there was a way I could make you understand what you mean to me. It seems like everything I’ve written hasn’t made any kind of impression, and I don’t know why. I thought I was pouring out my heart and soul, and after awhile, it felt like I was pissing in the wind. It’s kind of demoralizing.


The whole point of saying everything I did wasn’t to initiate anything between us. It was my way of channeling what you brought out in me and to show appreciation for everything you brought into my life.


I know for a fact we were destined to meet and that you may just be a soulmate, but that doesn’t include us being anything more than what we are. For all I know, it could simply be a creative connection we share. Either way, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore, does it?


You say everything is fine and nothing has changed. If that’s true, then why do I feel so disconnected and uninspired? Why is it that every time I sit down to write, every word sounds hollow and empty? Why do I feel so… lost? When I talk to you, it isn’t even really a conversation. It’s just pedantic banter between two people who aren’t really interested in speaking to one another. It hurts. I know you don’t see it that way, and sometimes it makes me wonder what’s worse- you not talking to me or you pretending to be interested in whatever I’m doing. I almost wish you wouldn’t bother.


If I sound like I’m angry with you, I’m not. I’m angry at me. I never should have put myself in this position. I never should have put my walls down and let myself feel anything. I never should have let you in. I should know better, but I still have this flickering flame of hope still burning inside me that I can’t seem to snuff out.


I can guess what you’re probably thinking- you think I’ve read too much into things and feel sorry at the fact that I’m closing myself off again. But what you don’t understand is, this is the way it has to be. This is the only way I can function. I work better the same way I always have- alone. Some people consider anger to be a negative thing, but it isn’t. Anger, when channelled properly, can be an asset. For me, it’s what fuels my passion and what drives me to do what I do best. The only thing love has ever done was distract me away from that. No more. I’m done. I wish I could say it saddens me, but it doesn’t. After having my heart broken so many times, I don’t have much emotion left to feel anything. And even if I did, it still wouldn’t matter.


After the first heartbreak I suffered, I spent a lot of years jumping from woman to woman- sometimes looking for solace, sometimes looking for comfort, but mostly looking for that connection I lost and thought was gone forever. Until I saw it again in your eyes. You don’t realize how special that makes you. You’re the missing piece.


I know you don’t believe it, though. And if you don’t believe, then nothing I’ve said has any real meaning.


They’re just words, and words are all I have.

Gregory B. Gonzalez

Writer at MadMikesAmerica and Anne Cohen Writes
Gregory B. Gonzalez has a column on MadMikesAmerica and is a regular Contributor on Anne Cohen Writes.

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