double meaning

I need a word. I'd like to say any word will do, but it's a specific one I'm looking for. The problem is the word I'm wanting does not exist.

It needs to describe the lightheaded dizziness that is my perception of life.

(See, a thing about me is when I write I choose every word with a feverish caution, needing it to fit perfectly in any imaginable way. You can read my words as they rest peacefully on the page, or you can hack at them with a pick axe until you get it. Part of me would like to warn you that no matter how you try, you probably won't ever get it. It's okay, because I don't actually understand either. I'm trying, so maybe you will too?)

I need a word to convey how it is.

The word would allow you a glimpse into my head. When you gaze into my eyes, I believe you will realize you only need a fleeting second to understand.

For everything that I am, I also am not. Maybe you're the same way? Maybe you manifest it differently, I don't know. For now, I'm not fixating on my analysis of myself. My flaws are not what this is about.

This is about the need for things I can't have- the misery that makes me happy, the bliss that makes me cry. The in one ear, out the other approach.

I feel there is a spark of something- perhaps it's a flame sparking over the top of the lighter, or maybe it's the sparkle in my eyes as I laugh at my own foolishness. Don't think that flame reference was in regards to me. At least not the goosebumps all over, mind blowing type of burning. Right?

Open your mind. I love fire. Not just the flames, but the idea of something all consuming. It's very representative of my hopes and aspirations. I kissed some of them goodbye. It was a better goodbye. I could have said bitter, I would have meant that too. Bittersweet even. That's a pretty word.

Words are the key to my heart. Not the kind of key that someone can have, or hold, or even know what the hell to do with. The kind of key that allows me to tap into myself so that I can open up for someone who holds a different type of key.

Words are a skeleton key.

My skeleton is happy today. That doesn't mean I am, doesn't mean I ever have been. Not to say that I'm not either. Smiling through the pain. Smiling because of the pain. Smiling without the pain. I'll always smile. It's always okay.

I don't need the pain, or want the pain. That's not what this is about either. It could possibly be about how I'm lost, looking for things I'll never find. When I stop and stare into the distance over your shoulder, I realize I'm not so lost. Do you think it's because I'm close to you? Or that since it's your shoulder I'm gazing over I feel like I've found my home? Sometimes I feel like I've found my heart. It's floating. That's not the point either. It's not about me. It's really not. It's not about you either. Or them.

What else is there? The language of my soul. Sure, the words are there that could fool you into thinking that it's still about my need to be understood. I did use a possessive word, after all. Who could blame you for choosing the peaceful route?

Read between my lines if you want to tame my spirit. Not to say that if you do that, you'll succeed. I don't know what it means, no one has ever actually done it. I think sometimes if I could do it, then you could too. I already addressed that. Maybe you should re-read while I continue pondering.

It's ceaseless and meaningless. Do I have your attention? I don't want to be ordinary. I'd imagine no one does. I don't want to be extraordinary either. What a horrible word. I hope you can see why. If I write long enough and hard enough I will chisel away at my own chains. Be patient. I've waited a lifetime, and I'm still holding on.

The day I realized that pain won't kill me was the day I died. And by dying, I mean I split in two. Or three. Numbers aren't exactly my thing. The point is I am not what I am. I am what I can not be, and what I will never be. I am not what you think I am. I am not what I think I am. I am me.

At my most imaginative, I envision my corpse brimming over with words. They float, dance and twist through my veins.

I hold a vacant stare when I pour my emotions into your soul. I am scared of my vulnerabilities, yet I embrace them in my writing, however masked they may be. I force questions upon you in hopes of deflecting any that may arise on their own, yet I hope fervently that you never stop wondering.

Ask me. I'm an open book. The book is written in another language, but isn't everything?

I'm cold and warm. Confused by my clarity. Miserable in my suffering. Happy with my goodbyes. Patient with my answers. Empty when I'm whole. Anxious to ask more questions. Being nervous calms me down. I spook easy, but I'm never afraid. I can mean it when I say that nothing surprises me. (I feel I should say that nothing surprises me anymore, but I was caught off guard before I even learned what a surprise was.) I am proud of the things that I find revolting. I am ashamed of the things that make me feel normal. One of these statements is a lie. Do you see a pattern?

I love meaning. Every sense of the word. I'm ashamed to say it, but I want to mean something. That's probably the most blatant sentence I have ever uttered. It takes my pain away, but replaces it with a different hurt.

I'm defeated, but I'm winning. Maybe your first instinct is to think that I lost the battle but won the war? Only time will tell.

"If" is a terrible, terrible word. That is a flaw. It means something. I suppose you'd need a decoder to get it, so you'll just have to trust me. Do you trust me? Is it possible to fully trust another person? I'd like to think so. I'd also like to think that if you search deep enough you can actually know another person. As I say that I'm terrified you will one day know me, yet it's all I could ever hope for.

It's careless of me to want to lose a part of me. I'll whisper into the sunset that this is what I really want. I'll believe it when the sun rises the next day and I'm still whole.

Where is my comfort? Tell me my love, what comforts you? Maybe I can reflect it back at you.

Would you rather dance with me or the devil? Perhaps the devil should join us, I hear he specializes in fire. You know, that kind. The kind that makes my eyes flutter shut in a breath of ecstasy. Will you hold my hand?

Just don't touch me, unless you mean it.