Incomplete

I don’t know what to write.
I start and stop a hundred different ideas because they’re both exhausting to complete and inadequate at portraying what I want them to portray.
I don’t have the artistry to paint a picture that satisfies my angst. No camera lens can capture the bittersweet beauty that I find as I look at the clouds, moon, and stars. Breathtaking, as I whisper out a “hi” to the heavens. Writing poetry or lyrics seems contrived. Metaphors and insinuations repulse me when all I want to do is find some clarity.

Broken fragments– ‘potential‘, ‘what if’, ‘never again’— jam together, tangled in a mess that my mind can’t quite iron out for myself, much less anyone else.
Alongside these words are the deep wells of emotion that I fall into suddenly without warning.
They look like lips chewed furiously in an attempt to tame sobs. They sound like sentences unexpectedly coming to a halt. They feel like weights on my chest as I wander around the rest of my day, waiting for something to unload them.

Somehow the fastest way out of the emotional depths of mourning is to simply speak. Not to everyone or anyone, but to the friends God has given me. People who can grasp my piecemeal thoughts and realize that in verbalizing all of my irrational musings I become more grounded. I don’t need to be fixed…I just need to be heard because the echo chamber in my head is much too loud on my own.

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Cotton candy skies melt before my eyes
Until there’s only dark blue over the highway
I wonder how I’ve loved someone
Who was never really mine
I miss the potential of you.

— an Incomplete Song Aug. 2022