Pelgris

I think my writing and attitudes may paint me as a broken person.  And truth to tell I am. Broken by a death that shattered me to peices. There was a time that I submerged myself in pain and pleasure hoping to blot out her memory.  When that failed, I closed all doors to emotion and lived in the logic and darker things that no door could hold. That numbness tainted everything I did, but in the end it allowed me to heal enough that I could come out of that remorseless light.  The hole that had cored me through now had a bottom. And I began to fill it with witnessed beauty, then back to the poetry of my youth,  thence to writing songs. And finally to this blog. And every day I fill up the hole with a little more creation.  And everyday the remorse and regret burn out the hole.  But some ash is left;  And little by little the hole is filling. In honesty, I am afraid.  I’ve been broken for so long now that I can no longer remember what is was like to be whole,  if I ever was.