It's nights like these...

It's nights like these that kill the most. The nights when my hands get so cold out of nervousness I can barely write. The shaking, the chest pounding, the sweaty palms, the fear that my mind will race off the deep end in thought, all because of how scared I can be around you.

It shouldn't be this way you know. I'm supposed to be a man; men are supposed to have strength beyond reproach and be able to sepearate those things that make him feel less so. That's what they'll all have you believe. Or want you to believe. Or want you to feel. Or at the very least, the way they all want you to comform because that's just how it's supposed to be.

But its nights like these, when the conversation flows with ease, the jokes come with the stroke of a Neil Simon play, and the thoughts come racing back. I'm supposed to be a man so these things shouldn't consume me; but they do.

The mistakes of a past not soon forgotten have led me to this place, this time, this state. The ever evolving regret washes from one side to the other like water in a oblong bowl. Anger and contempt for you subsides to overwhelming hatred I have for myself over things gone wrong and time wasted; and back again. The internal struggle of a shattered mind and withering heart can't contain the measure of my sorrow for the pain I've inflicted. Or the pain I've felt.

It's nights like these that cloud the mind. The foggying nature of my thoughts make it unclear to even myself what needs to be done. The heart knows. But as is the case of a lifetime spent rethinking something - everything - my mind shouts down the better angels in my soul. Foolish mind.

Men would be good to think with their hearts. For one moment in a lifetime it could mean the difference between a few heartbeats of true happiness, and all of them. For one moment the heart could cease those opportunities we don't often get the chance to grab ahold of. For one moment, all things that were done wrong, could be set right again.

It's nights like these that hurt the most. When the lights are off, the music stops playing, and only the thoughts are to keep me company. It's nights like these those better angels of who I want to be, are being shouted down by the demons in my head. A fight too often lost by the good guys. By me. Just once I'd like to be able to take control of what I know is right, pull it alongside me, and use it as the driving force to finish this puzzle that has yet to be finished.

It's nights like these when I realize among the whispering silences, I can't go back to the things been done. Mistakes have been made, words have been spoken, and tears have been shed. I can't go back to the things been done. The angels weep to hold their strength, but the regret consumes them as well. They long to fight another day to save what once was, but they know they can't do enough. The demons have won with their choices, their actions.

It's nights like these, I realize the finishing piece to the puzzle, is gone.

Til' next time.