Selfish

My stomach feels like an aching void (of course, if it was a void, I'd be a lot skinnier). Tonight I've been reading about fictitious people and wishing, not for the first time, that I could be part of the story. 

The acheis easy to explain. It's just loneliness coupled with fear of rejection plus missing things that use to prop up the constructs of my world.

I miss a couple guys who crushed me. I shouldn't, but I do on night's like this. Everyone I love are adults (or babies who you can't have a discussion about accountability with) who are married and/or have kids and/or jobs to wake up for, so it becomes hard to justify waking then up (or slowing them down) by posing theological queries or asking what kind of cake they'd want to be or if they've listened to Beau James' Ten Shots yet. 

It's selfish. I know it is. Plus it's whiny of me to miss it. I'm exceedingly blessed to have so many loving friends (who hopefully won't read this & think I'm ungrateful or trying to say they're anything less than awesome), but nights like this make me wish I had one person that was just mine. 

Someday. 

But for now, back to listening to my iPod flip berween old songs while reading an old book. Life's not too bad even if I'm aching sometimes. 

For the Cold Night

What on earth am I doing?
Seriously, what am I doing?
Am I the girl I see in the mirror or am I someone I have yet to meet?
It's a hard thing to see at times
what with the fog on the glass.
The drink on the window sill is staying cold
just waiting for me to take a breath
--at least something here has the gift of patience when all my patience is gone--

I'll just wait here alone.

The loneliness isn't too bad these days
maybe I'll find purpose yet
Some days I get to be the good fairy
I'd always dreamed to be
some kids want to be princesses
I wanted to be the fairy godmother
(well maybe I wanted to be the princess too..
after all, who doesn't want the handsome prince at the end of the story?)

I'd just like to be wanted
To be needed
To come first to somebody

it's the realization that no one has heard a word you said
that really breaks a joke
or the story
the hope
heart
Nothing makes you feel smaller than silence
when you just need someone to nod and say "uh huh"
(even if they're barely listening)

Do you hear me now?
Or see me?
Am I actually Bruce Willis in the Sixth Sense?
I'm the one who has been dead all along?

Be patient with me as I grow
Someday (maybe today) I'll have someone tune my old piano
I'll write some more thank you notes
and figure out how to use YouTube to teach myself new stitches
The poetry I'll read will work it's way deep through my soul
and I won't need to wait because
my soul will bloom on it's own