Seattle makes my heart bleed, Seattle makes my heart grow.

A journal entry from living in Seattle last fall. My heart was having trouble. Looking back on my time there the sad state that I was in, and my time in Seattle, was a very precious time for me.

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How do I create? I want to create. I need to create. Something stirs inside of me, but I dont have the drive or the talent to bring it out on my own.
Oh my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart.
My heart.
Oh Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Come into me.
Give me something. Show me something.
Take me somewhere. Send me someone.
Breath.
See me.
Feel me.
Help me.
My soul is slowly vanishing. I am becoming smaller; something outside of myself.
I'm forgetting who I am,
Why you made me.
Who do you want me to be? Have I forgotten? Or did I ever know?
Seattle, Seattle, what do you want from me?
God, is this your intention? Do you know how lost I am? Can you just tell me why you want me here so I can leave.
Home.
I want Home for the Holidays.

Slow suicide of the heart.

It's breaking. It's rotting. It's crumbling slowly.
Slow. Slow.
To it's heartbreaking death.
For a moment, though, if I close my eyes, my heart will awaken.
If I imagine myself in another place, in another embrace.
If I can get myself to smell the frigid Chicago air, or taste the warmth of mom's goulash.
Maybe if I imagine it hard enough, want it bad enough, feel it good enough,
It will be enough.
And I'll open my eyes,
And with tears, I'll be embraced again by familiar arms.
Maybe the miracle of love so close could make my heart once again come back from it's blackened, dead state.
It feels again, it shines again, and it laughs again.