Why is it?

Why is it that when I can’t sleep and my eyes are weary that I feel the need to write?

I can barely stay awake, but yet I can come here for a few moments and the words flow out of my hands like they have been waiting forever.

I’ve been sad and I want to run away.

When I say that, I feel like a horrible person.

I want to take my little boy and leave and go to where no one knows me and start over again, again.

I feel like I have nothing to offer him but love and that maybe he would be better off here instead.

Sometimes I feel like he wouldn’t miss me if I were gone.

Like the dog we buried not long ago, a brief explaination that she was gone and he would not see her again.

He hasn’t asked about her in months.

I know that the reality is different, but that’s the kind of sad I feel.

I need to find a way to be happy again.

I need to breathe slowly and feel the wind on my face, but two in the morning is not the time for it.

Something, somewhere, some time…