I’ve never shared an original writing with the ‘public’… I’m not good at sharing, I always fear the “What if…” What if no one likes it? What if no one understands it?  What if people who read it just think I’m a fool?  Those are scary things.  BUT I decided that this time around with my blog I wasn’t going to be afraid… or, perhaps more accurately, I wouldn’t let my fear stop me.

I haven’t written in a long time.  Years even.  I let my fear, and others’ criticism stop me.  But I’ve been rereading my old writing .. trying to find my inspiration again. I wrote the most in a dark part of my life, and most of my writing feels despairing.. but there’s hope too.  I’m still not sure if I have found inspiration again; am not sure I’ll be able to write again… at least anytime soon.  I do want to though, I love to write, I feel like I can be so much more expressive… but I suppose there’s little point in writing without sharing it with someone? 

Cheers to writing, and cheers to sharing. Here goes nothin’.  I wrote this twelve years ago today…

Icicles

Why do I see the sun shining in the icicles around my little world? Glinting and fracturing off the jagged edges of those cold hard friends of mine which are always hanging around me…

Is the sun not meant for life and warmth?, and

Yet I feel only the cold fingers of death creeping here with me…

I seek to find the laughter of days gone past, and forgo this consuming depression

Which threatens me.

I yearn for company and comfort, but do I find it? No I see only the sun from afar,

Teasing with its comforting warmth that I cannot feel.

Does anyone really feel the sun? Or is it an illusion that is forever teasing?

Teasing with its long rays that seem to reach into infinity and yet are always beyond the reach of my outstretched fingers. I can see my hands reaching out… almost touching the warmth that is ever present and yet never there… why does it rush away from me when I am so close to reaching it?

Can someone tell me where did everything go? I am alone here in my little room of death and cold and fear…

Fear? Yes I say fear because I fear the unknown… the uncertainty of my meaningless life here with the icicles… I do not know why there are icicles… they hang around my life, around this small room of useless space and breath. They are my only company here.  Do they accompany everyone? I say everyone. But how can I know if there are others?

I never see them. There is only me…

Only me in my lost little world… I think of that and I cry… and my tears only add to the icicles.