My gut hurts.

I'm writing this, and in writing this I don't really know what I am writing about. I sort of do, hence the title "my gut hurts," but it's vague. Yes, vague! That is how things have been smelling, tasting, feeling lately. I can't quite pinpoint what it is that feels so blue, but there is a hue that enters my lens and leaves me lonesome, as though I'm the only one seeing it. I find myself lingering in eyes longer than I've known anyone to linger in mine. I can't be the only person that truly wants to know another. I know I'm not. But why doesn't anyone look deeply into me? Do they? Am I just not catching them...or am I just not letting them. I feel at times as free as a kite, tied to it's string, flying not far from the fingers that lead it. An illusion of flight, only getting as high as the rope is long. But I want more. And whose fingers are those that think they can lead better than I. I've tasted the sky so many times, only to be tugged back down and grounded. What is so great about being grounded.

Sometimes life feels a bit too cyclical. Will it always end up back here, in this space, where light seems elusive, freedom a joke, and truth just a concept?