It’s one of those nights. The wind feels good outside my window, but it still blows hollow on the emptiness inside. What do you say when the words won’t come, and no picture will do? How do you tell somebody how you feel when you know no way to begin? Then you missed the chance and you feel even worse. There are hours and minutes you can’t get back, yet you waste the todays and tomorrows on some shelled out idea of existence. I wish some things were clearer. Maybe then I wouldn’t have so many questions for all these feelings inside.

In grade school they teach you about anger, and sadness, and happiness, but they never teach you about the times when you are mixtures of all. There are ten billion degrees of feeling that slam day and night on the rocky depths of our souls until there is nothing left but sand that pours out through the cracks in our heart. However, we rise up again nearly whole, almost forgetting the cold empty shells that we amounted to in our mind moments before. At some point people stop lying about our wholeness. We spitefully look that fate in the eye and laugh back at it. I just wish I could figure out how we pull that off.