silence is too loud

At times when I write, I feel like I’ll never be able to stop. I feel the same way about crying. Is it the excess that drives you away? Was it this excess that always kept you at a distance?

Or is the excess a by-product of your distance?

Maybe there won’t be a happy ending. 

Maybe the end is already here.

The question is, “am I happy?”

I finally got my answers, but they weren’t from you.

Someone listened to me, but it wasn’t you.

I haven’t been able to tell you that I’m in recovery because you can’t take this away from me. You’ve tried to have your hand in everything, asking your unfiltered questions and offering unsolicited opinions. And this you can’t have. This is too sacred and too pure for me, it’s delicate like glass. I can’t allow you into this whole room filled with glass. Not now, maybe not ever. Because your words are like sledgehammers. And have you ever seen what a sledgehammer can do to glass?

I wonder where I go when the reality of this life leaves me.

When my world becomes anew and strange.

I wonder when I’ve been in this strange world before and why I return.

I wonder how many worlds I created when I couldn’t stomach my own.