Alone in the night is never really a good feeling especially when you have someone there next to you. You dwell on past experiences, you regret yet you don’t regret, you feel like a failure, you feel sad that you’re so sad and choose to be so. It reminds you that you still have dreams, I guess. That you think that you do deserve the best, or better than you’re getting.
You get to cry silently. Maybe the other person feels a slight shudder beneath the blankets but ignores it because he just doesn’t want to deal with it…again.
I’ve never had such great ideas as I do in the night. Every emotion that I try to closet during the daily routine rushes out then and it frightens me and excites me. I can do this, I think. Yes.
I’ll write whole paragraphs in the night, in my mind. Wishing and hoping that I’ll remember them in the morning…but they drift away. And the more I try to remember, the further away it goes. Not the story, but how I want to share it.
I’d love to write about actual experiences, but they may be too personal for me yet to unveil. Not necessarily to myself because I’ve already thought about them over and over. But, what if a particular someone read it and was shocked by it all. Maybe didn’t want to hear or read such words. I don’t know if I could ever do that to them.
So that is why I’m scared to write my heart and soul out. I really don’t know how you can do that without the uncomfortableness, without the hurting. I’m close to it though. Maybe one day soon I’ll be able to. I’d have to start from the beginning of course. Way way back when I was truly innocent of such thinkings that go on in men’s minds. Way back when I was only fifteen.