Searching for Air.

There's something terribly wrong with me. I haven't figured out what it is just yet, but some type of emptiness has come over me and replaced everything that was once there. I find myself doing things I have never done. Calling old friends to see how they're doing is fine and well if there is sincerity behind it. I pick up the phone not for their benefit, but for mine. I'm lonely and grasping onto anything in my reach...

I can't escape this hollowness between my fingertips. The lingering of you. The absence of purpose. The uncertainty of any future. It's beyond absurd. I guess I'm just missing the point of everything. The point of living without materialism. The point of living without love. The point of living without a purpose. That's what I get for dreaming. That's what I get for burying my hopes and dreams in the photobooks of others.

But not even all the prettiest pictures in the world will save me. Just a moment in time. Not even the highest heels will make me stand with more conviction. Shoulders hunched, head down I walk through life in shambles. Falling over before I get pushed. Emotionally cutting off the happiness before it's birthed from innocence, my glimmer of hope, cut off from sunshine, dwindles ten times a day. If I can manage to end my days anywhere but at the bottom, I will continue to pick myself up. I will continue to pick up the pieces.

Young couples dancing ever so sweetly beneath the streetlights. Kissing, teasing ever so gracefully, running on tiptoes caught in the moment.

I think that can be us. In another lifetime. Minus the drugs and the misguided emotion we'd be perfect for each other. Dancing under moonlight to the rhythm in our own heads. As I look back, it's not so much what you did than it is what I didn't do. The only surprises tucked beneath my heart was the materialism layed before me on a daily basis. Enjoying company is overrated when the self transforms itself into the only thought worth relevance.

Where have I been and where will I find you. Yours for only a moment and my mind is lost in ecstasy. Have you forgotten me...

Because I miss you, terribly.

Title.

Every book needs a title, just as every person needs a name. The title, in the end, is always irrelevant. It may appeal to our senses or some type of subconscious desire, but ultimately it is the content under the title that gives birth to the soul of the book, the person, and this blog.

So here it is. My Conflated. Reality.

I give birth to words with no meaning, confusing my dreams into my waking life. Reality blurs, blending its colors into the tomorrows of yesterday and the yesteryear of this year. Lost in days that no longer exist my existing days are washed away by the fabrication of thought that seems to swallow my reality on a daily basis. Its always turning backwards or looking forwards, leaving the present place-less. Forced to stand on its own it is always hoping. always wanting. For that- new day. The day when dreams are just memories, swept up gently and cascading for use by the abundance. The day when conflated realities are disintegrated into the purity needed to save my soul's sanity from its drowning veracity. When will I just be. Until then, I will give birth to words with no meaning because this is my Conflated.Reality.