dear diary,

I am 40. And Im just now starting to find my footing. or a new footing. there's so much change that it's difficult to tell. But, love always has been and always will be the main plot of my life's story. Sadly it seems, though, that no matter how ferverently I emote what love is to me; how deeply, purely, selflessly I love, I am met with an abundance of resistance and find myself lost in it. Pieces in every crevice of the room. A tattered rag of what I used to be. I crave a love that makes me want to stay. But roots and wings are never found on the same thing. I worry that I am not what I used to be and also not what what I'm meant to become. In a fight against myself, I do not know who will win. I follow myself into dark alleys, hand in hand, lost. I am packed into tiny boxes that have been compartmentalized by definition and now I claw to be free. I am a prisoner of myself and what love means to me.