brooding and being

I live in Cincinnati. I have never lived in a place that I felt actually suited my personality before now. Today, I thought about this. And I thought about what happened seven years ago today. I watched a speech by Michelle Obama. I played music. And I laughed.

And now, I am writing. Because I love life and I am broken hearted. This is my time and my place. Will I fall in love? Will I have my heart crushed again? Will the cracks already in place, clean cuts that have been haphazardly taped and glued together so I look like I'm coping, will they split and shatter irreparably? Will the fragile hope I have be betrayed. Will I watch all that I love and believe in disappoint me again? Or will I, will we all, rebuild? Will we take the crumbled walls and joyfully make new ones from the rubble? Responsibly, thoughtfully, lovingly... Will we celebrate that not all is lost, or will we lose all? I am a person who wants to see change in my life, in my mind, in the world, in the people around me, in those I've lost or let go of. Government can only change so much; it will always be corrupt, but it can be better than evil and merely self-serving. People I love, who used to be family, they don't believe the same things I believe. They value the safety of suburbia, their own happiness over the collective happiness. I understand; I do. You have children and you feel the need to protect them above all other people. This is one reason I prefer not to have kids, to not be distracted from what is right for the world in favor of what is right for the people that came from my belly. If no one has come from my belly, I can remain more objective. That is, if I am not in love. This is where I am and what I think. This is where I fit in, today. Tomorrow, who knows. Today, romantic love is imperfect, it is attachment and confusion. Unfortunate, because I miss it. Shall I stay alone, on my own, sleeping next to no one? Does it mute my passion to have my passion quenched?