Heart of a writer

They say that writers are forgetful people. It is not because they do not care, but it's because their minds are always swirling with endless 'what ifs' and 'why nots'. It's not because they want to be forgetful, it's because they are always looking for something that ignites the flame within them. And today I learn too, writers can also be extremely heartless and cold.

I'm confused to no end. I think I'm sad, I'm frustrated and tired and down and angry with myself and I want to break down - I haven't felt like breaking down ever since the start of this year. But my emotions seems to hit a brick wall now. It's as if they are protecting me from me. And I really hate the way I feel now, I feel no different from years ago. And it is most odd, that as hard as my heart is screaming my eyes do not yield. I feel just like many years ago, weak, alone, lost and confused. It is such a nostalgic yet dangerous feeling, I wish I could tell someone and have them look me in the eye and tell me they understand without saying it. I wish I could have someone resonate with me and calm me down. I wish there was someone to tear the feelings right out of me. It is in confusion that I find the peace I need, not this animated state of calm.

And I swear I feel lost. I'm a walking contradiction. I feel relieved without her but I feel equally lost.  This amazing urge to find myself, it's overwhelming and it's definitely the most powerful thing I have felt up till now. But there is just one thing I am scared off...What if this urge to find myself ends my feelings for her?

perhaps it was the way I was raised. I was built to repair and fix and heal people and disappear right after. perhaps I am nothing more than a passing person, someone that offers shelter till it's time for me to go again. perhaps, but perhaps this is because of how I grew up. I mean, what does it mean to have the something permanent in my life that I so desperately needed back them? perhaps I was only taught to run and never turn back. perhaps I'm just like how my friend describe me, I have the heart of a writer but the soul of a nomad and the will of a healer. I'm not permanent. I'm a ghost of better times. I'm there to pull you up and disappear. perhaps...

I want to break. I need to break. Desperately