I was gonna call this pain

This will be a "mass post" as VMaltese calls it. The following piece was written 23 March 2008.

There is an Ache - it is in my heart. Underneath it, around it, the discomfort is still there. I write this and I am reminded. I write this and I am not soothed. It is in my chest. I can't breathe it out.

It is a pain that expands, it does not diminish. Only growing to remind me. I have not healed from - well, what have I healed from?

It escapes my body, but it does not leave, it does not leave me. It escapes me and I am satisfied for a moment; then it returns. I can feel it, see it, by my side, in the crowd. A throbbing hurt: pulsing, because it lives.

Living - breathing as it does.

I write this and I am not soothed. Satiation is far away. This ache has no bandage. Patching it up does not mean fixing it up.

It lives. Breathing as I do.

This ache is bondage. I am caught, tangled, bound. A constriction, if you will. It does not let me, it will not allow me, it will not permit me.