Missing Something Special

 

I have to admit that when I'm on-line, either reading or surfing in general, I'm also following a pattern: Gmail, Yahoo mail then Fetlife, MySpace, Twitter and anywhere else I am.

• Gmail.
• Yahoo mail.
• Fetlife.
• MySpace.
• Twitter.

This is my spiral, my track, where I go back & forth looking for my connections.  I keep hoping that when people meet or chat with me, they're not too disappointed by what they see when they finally meet me in person.  Deep inside I know what I look like but maybe they're trying to spare me by not showing up and having to fake any kind of unwanted interaction.

That's why I've been fighting my damnedest to make those impossible deadlines and trying to create something new that would be a start-of-a-new-life.

I miss some people more than I can imagine.  I keep thinking it's not love, just a silly crush.  They've moved on, and my life stalled, and they're in a better place.

 Many DO live better lives and I have to make my own happen.  But while I am waiting & working to make the faith of my dreams come true I miss little things.

Notes.  Comments.  Not just from other writers but from the ones' who loved me once, and who ached to have me in their ear.

 

Nowadays I can't draw a crowd with a fire or a flamethrower.

Now I just disappoint.

I miss that: having one person who held their breath for my notes, and I for theirs'.  Even the tiniest of thoughts would make my knees weak, my heart tremble, and I'd be overjoyed.

Nowadays I can't do anything right, and all I do is repel.

I can't even get a "sorry you're not my type" bit of honesty, and I have to make-do with my own feelings of inadequacy accepting the scraps of charity and letting my heart be run over whenever possible.

I know some people read this blog, and I know some who comment.  And I know what I want that they can't provide, but what they DO give me I am grateful for without a doubt.

I know I am blessed.

I'm just hoping to be wanted.