A (K)Night of the Heart

[woostering]

Y'know, sometimes I wonder how I can have such a highly developed sense of logic and such deep running emotions at the same time. Usualy they work well together, but every so often there's a glitch and the two try to fix all the problems of the other. This is a short perambulation (note to self: stop reading so much Holmes, vocabulary being affected) through what I realized last night, though by no means all of it. But I tried to capture as closely as I could this part of my nightly musings.

 

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It's that feeling you get  at night when you're trying to fall asleep and your brain won't--no, no, it's your heart--your heart won't shut off and you just lie there in bed and feel so... alone. Just one little mind in one empty room. And you want to reach out, to feel the presence of another human being, and the solidity of it, but you can't, because no one's there, and it's just you, lying alone.

 

It's that you want to stop being made of steel and glass and granite, stop holding yourself in, let your awarness fizzle out and feel other people. And it's not that you think you don't have friends; you know they'd be there if you really needed them. You don't doubt that. But you don't really need them then. You just want them, to fill the empty space of an over-active heart. You want to be with someone who understands this feeling, who gets in this moment you just need to feel, in a way beyond words. That other things are solid so you don't have to be so much. And that's what it is, to just sit next to someone who understands, for them to be there by you so you can feel.

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It's not like this all the time. Only every so often, to balance out the nights of deep contemplation, the nights the brain is what won't turn off. These nights aren't even as bad, because it's not a sadness, just a deep, ingrained yearning. The nights of thinking are worse, because that's when I try to make sense of that shining inner light from the nights of the heart and try to fit it into the steel and the rock, and I call myself weak because I cannot. I have plenty of words for those nights, and harsh ones at that. But these nights can't be put down so well, for the heart does not deal in words.