Confused Musings

Oh, desk. Oh, ink. Phrases and pictures and paintings, crafted by weary hands and a troubled mind.

I've longed to feel any coherent pass of words through my fingertips.

Anything that fits or even makes the least bit of sense.

But I've been dry.

Stuck. In a hole, a ditch, that I can't seem to climb out of.

And my, how things have changed.

It's funny, almost, how right when you begin to get comfortable with yourself, when you think you know who you are. You realize you don't.

Everything familiar is yanked from your grasp and you're tossed carelessly into another world of realization.

You aren't who you thought you were.

And you want to find yourself again.

But to do so... oh, if it were only as easily done as it were easily said.

Friends. Family. What would they all think of you? If you just up and changed on a whim because you didn't "feel right."

You suddenly don't know anything about yourself anymore.

And you aren't sure if you want to do what you think you have to.

Decisions, decisions.